


By the Guidance of Stars

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Also featuring: a surprising amount of coffee, Angst, C2-D4 - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hints of unrequited Lana/Knight, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating will go up, Romance, Shadow of Revan, Slow Burn, The Jedi Code is more like guidelines anyway right?, Theron Shan vs. F-E-E-L-I-N-G-S, With appearances from Jakarro, You Have Been Warned, and Lana!, and a chapter whose alternate title is 'The Jakarro Sutra', awkward family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: The Coalition tries to heal in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin 4, but not every wound is physical.(Missing scenes set during the end of Shadow of Revan.)





	1. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally bit the bullet and decided to split up the story I lovingly have nicknamed the “Fic O Doom” into smaller, mostly self-contained parts. I started this back at the end of 2016, and it sort of spiraled out of control. The rating of this will very likely go up to M or E near the end, although everything else will be fairly tame.

Lightning split the sky, lighting up the rain-slicked stone path winding back toward the shuttle. For a moment, every inch of the forest was lit up before darkness rushed back in. The Revanites had lined the area with flickering lamps that were slowly dying, their dim glow doing almost nothing to illuminate the surroundings.

Their group slowly made the way toward where they had left the shuttle, the steady drizzle of rain beginning to intensify. Even though it helped to bring the sweltering jungle temperatures down, it was miserable weather — fitting for the miserable mood of their not-so-merry little band.

Theron Shan lagged near the end of the train of fighters, surreptitiously adjusting his jacket to block out the rain, unable to suppress a wince. He’d been expecting an intense battle when they had prepared to face off against Revan, but even so, it seemed like every part of him hurt. The adrenaline rush from the fight was fading, and he was starting to feel every bruise, jolt, and scrape from the battle. He’d been slammed against some of the stone pillars in the temple courtyard more than once, jarring the injuries that had only just begun to heal after Revan’s interrogation.

A light touch to his elbow drew his attention, reminding him that he wasn’t alone at the end of the line. If it had been anyone else, including his mother who was at the front of their little line, he would have pulled away, perhaps forcibly — but Theron found himself making a lot of exceptions when it came to this particular little blonde Jedi. Too many exceptions if he were being honest with himself, and yet he made another one, letting the hand on his arm stay where it was.

It gave him a moment to pause and collect himself, try and shove the pain back to a corner of his mind to be dealt with later. Preferably when they got back to camp, where he could settle into a comfortable haze from plenty of kolto and painkillers.

Theron met the questioning gaze, taking in the twin brows drawn up in an expression of concern. It wasn’t necessarily out of place, they _had_ just fought like hell — but for some reason it prompted a deep twinge in his chest. It shouldn't have, he was a professional after all and was not to be undone by a simple look, even from Greyias Highwind, the celebrated Hero of Tython. His ribs were just a little tender after the fight, as being tossed around like a rag doll with the Force had probably re-aggravated his injuries from Rishi. It was probably that. Nothing… else.

He raised his eyebrows in question at her look, as well as the fact that she still had her hand lightly resting on his arm. “Hey, there.”

The smile he received in return was strained and definitely forced. “How are you doing?”

He took a moment to read between the lines of exhaustion on her face, and realized that the wrong person was asking that question. “About the same as you.”

“I doubt that,” she said, although he couldn’t be sure if she was referring to his physical state, or something else entirely. “You hit that column pretty hard…”

And _she_ had nearly been skewered by Revan’s blade at one point during the fight. Actually, they both had, because he had kind of rushed in to try and stop it with mixed results. They really were only in one piece right now thanks to Lana’s timely intervention. He probably owed the Sith Lord some thanks for that—but he was a little too tired to summon up the energy for that. And he definitely didn’t want to replay that close call back in his head, once had been enough.

“I’ve had worse,” he shrugged instead, only managing the tiniest of grimaces, “trust me.”

“I can see if Master Satele—”

“That’s not trusting,” he said jokingly, “and besides, if you tattle on me, I’ll make sure she mothers you just as bad.”

“She’s _your_ mother, not mine.”

“Got to keep bringing that up, huh?” He managed a smile. “Besides, from what I’ve gathered, I’m pretty sure you’re practically adopted at this point.”

“That would complicate things,” Grey said, then seemed to realize her hand was still resting on his sleeve and dropped it quickly.

“It might.”

In the growing darkness he could barely make out the pink tinge creeping into her cheeks. Despite the pain and exhaustion pulling at him, he felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth at the sight.

The drizzle was quickly approaching a downpour, and they both picked up their pace to keep up with the rest of the group. Theron readjusted the collar on his jacket, but the rain still trickled down his neck and onto his back uncomfortably. Next to him, his companion unsuccessfully suppressed a shiver as the temperatures around them dropped. Her normally high bobbing ponytail was now soaked and drooping against her neck, the tangled hairs well on their way into an unmanageable rat’s nest. He had a feeling that his own carefully maintained style probably looking similar.

Seeing that she hadn’t bothered to raise the hood on her cloak, he started to wonder exactly the toll the battle had taken on her. He thought about saying something, but she just looked so miserable, he couldn’t help himself. With a quick glance ahead to see if anyone was paying attention (they weren’t, too intent on escaping the downpour to notice what was going on behind them), Theron grabbed the hood, quickly shook out the water and plopped it on top of her head.

It seemed to shake her from her thoughts, and she flashed him a look caught somewhere between flustered and mild irritation. “What was the point of that?”

He just gave her a smile. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Maybe a little of both,” he said quietly. “You seem tired.”

“I…” She fussed with the hood, dropping her gaze from his. “I’m all right. You don’t need to worry.”

He swallowed, blinking past the rain pelting down on his face. That really wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for, but when he thought about it, wasn’t sure exactly he was wanting either.

It was easier when they bantered back and forth, that felt almost natural. Normal. And it wasn’t his business, but she just looked so worn down, trudging through the rain as if the weight of the entire galaxy was pressing down on her. It felt wrong to just ignore it. Yet in that unguarded moment it had almost been like he’d caught a glimpse of something beyond the infamous Jedi. Of a woman who had seen far more than she let on. Or maybe it was just the rain, and he was tired and imagining things.

The moment to say something passed as they ducked inside of the shuttle and quickly shuffled to one of the benches on the side. Theron leaned against the back cushion, taking a moment to just relax and relish the victory, however imperfect it may have been. Almost a year of his life had been dedicated to nothing but defeating the Order of Revan. And they had just accomplished _that_ at least. He was going to ignore the dark world devouring spirit that had been unleashed and focus on the positive for a few minutes at least. He had earned his small win, even if he had to celebrate it while cramped into a shuttle too small for the eclectic group gathered there.

Darth Marr took up entirely too much room, still bedecked in his massive suit of armor, not helped by the fact that he was managing to take up the space of two people by refusing to uncross his arms. Next to him, Satele took up much less room, and seemed almost folded in on herself as she leaned against the bench, momentarily lost in contemplation. Shae Viszla had removed her helmet so she could properly glare at the wookie who was elbowing her into the Grand Master as Jakarro and Deefour got situated. On their half of the shuttle, Kira was becoming one with the far end of the wall as Lord Scourge refused to scoot over an inch, seeming unwilling to even touch Lana. For her part, Lana was doing her best to give both her fellow Sith Lord and the Jedi Master sitting next to her what little space she could afford.

Theron let his gaze drift to said Jedi, noticing the slight furrow in her brow as she stared blankly ahead at the other half of the shuttle, not seeming to actually see anything. Unable to say anything without the rest of the shuttle’s occupants overhearing, Theron nudged her with his elbow.

The furrow eased into a confused look and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then slightly tilted his head to indicate everyone crammed in tighter than a tin of Nubian sardines. They might have taken a beating, but they were all still here. Thanks in no small part to her efforts during the battle. The edges of her mouth quirked up into a semblance of a smile as the shuttle’s engines roared to life.

The storm outside picked up intensity as they rose into the air, the downpour bouncing off the hull in a cacophony. The constant noise was almost soothing in its own way, and Theron felt himself drifting into a peaceful state of non-thought as they made their way back towards the coalition’s base camp. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been, but he was roused from his stupor by a light pressure on his shoulder and blonde hair tickling his jaw.

Without moving, he let his gaze slide over, just able to make out the face of a lightly slumbering Jedi. Grey’s cheek had fallen against his shoulder as her exhaustion had caught up with her. The furrow in her brow had smoothed over in sleep, leaving her looking younger than he had ever seen. A warm emotion welled up deep in his gut, and he couldn’t completely swallow the small smile it summoned.

He had never seen her so unguarded before, and it was… nice. So many of their shared moments had been such a flurry of energy and urgency. Even the kiss they had shared on Rishi had been limited by the countdown of people waiting just outside the door. For this small moment, she wasn’t the Hero of Tython, champion of the Jedi Order and savior of the Republic. She was just an exhausted young woman, leaning on someone else without realizing it.

Theron swallowed, wondering how often an occurrence that was. He had a feeling it wasn’t many, seeing as how she couldn’t even admit to being weary after such a heavy battle. On one hand, he understood the need to keep everyone at arms lengths. It just made things… easier. Or at least it should have been.

Ever since Rishi, he’d been unable to banish the image of her tearing through Revan’s compound like an avenging angel as she came to rescue him. When they’d kissed, she tasted like adrenaline, and his lips had tingled long after they’d parted. Almost every time he closed his eyes she was there, like some part of her had been burned into his mind. He had no idea what was wrong with him.

For a brief, unthinking moment, he almost leaned his cheek into the forehead peeking over his shoulder, but he managed to stop himself. Exhaustion was doing funny things to his brain, he decided. Reluctantly, he looked away from the peaceful visage his shoulder and studied the rest of their ragtag group.

Just beyond the slumbering Jedi, he could see that Lana had also slipped into a light slumber, her shoulder leaning against Grey’s just ever so slightly to stay upright. It was an innocent, causal action. Not like the light, lingering flirting touches he’d spied on Rishi when Lana thought he hadn’t been looking. He was pretty sure the sudden angry zing in his gut was not any form of jealousy, and instead glanced at the other half of the shuttle. He was surprised to briefly catch his mother’s soft gaze, unable to decipher the exact emotion lurking there. Fondness and wistfulness swirled together, but he couldn’t tell if it was directed towards Theron, the overtired Knight, or perhaps an even more distant memory back during the first Galactic War.

Theron should have nudged the Jedi on his shoulder into wakefulness, so that she could salvage her image of perfect emotional detachment for the Grand Master of the Order. Just the thought of having to disturb her first moment of peace for the night made the warm ball in his gut twist. So instead he just met his mother’s scrutiny, hoping that she could read in his expression the simple warning that she let this moment be. The smile she flashed him was brief, but sad, and hinted at much deeper story than he could ever guess at. Whether it was Satele’s own story, or it belonged to the woman softly resting on Theron’s shoulder, he couldn’t be sure.

A soft thump against his boot made him break the staring contest with Satele, and was met with Jakarro’s knowing grin. The wookie bobbed his furry brows suggestively, clearly reading far too much into the situation. Theron mustered the closest he could to a glare, but this just made Jakarro grin wider. Before the situation could escalate to any eye rolling, the craft shuddered as it touched down on the ground.

The soft warmth against his shoulder suddenly disappeared as Grey bolted awake, and Theron felt a twinge of regret that the moment of peace had been so short. The rest of the shuttle roused, slowly and painfully pulling themselves to their feet. They shuffled out, one-by-one and trudged through the downpour to the medcenter that had been set up a ways from the command tent.

Theron watched as Kira gently guided her former master over to where Doc stood at the ready, looking frazzled at the state of his crew. A few murmured protests were all that Theron had caught before the large and intimidating form of Lord Scourge cut into his view.

The ancient Sith did nothing to hide his scowl. “You best be careful, little spy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

Theron bristled, his own bruises and aches temporarily forgotten as he matched the tall and imposing Sith glare-for-glare. “Mind your own business.”

“That Jedi _is_ my business,” he said, almost possessively, “as long as the Emperor remains.”

An angry red haze descended over Theron, an unfamiliar ferocity taking hold of him. “I don’t like your implication, Sith.”

“And I don’t care what _you_ like.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What I don’t care for are _distractions_. You have no idea what your ancestor has awakened.”

“Yeah, no, I saw the evil purple light show just the same as you. Have a good idea that was pretty bad.”

“Your understanding of the situation is paltry at best,” he sneered. “The power the Emperor wields is beyond anything you can comprehend, and there’s only one person in this galaxy who has a chance at stopping him.”

Theron was struck by the image of the woman slumbering against his shoulder, and the angry red haze darkened, his protective instincts kicking into full gear. “She’s not some tool that you can just use against your enemies—“

That drew a harsh bark of laughter from Scourge. “Your hypocrisy is amusing, Agent Shan. Or have you forgotten who started this whole misadventure with the Order of Revan to begin with?”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him, which was appropriate, as the rain was coming down in buckets now. He surged past the Sith, intentionally knocking him out of the way. It was like shoulder-checking a statue and ignited the pain in Theron’s side again. He tossed a brief, smoldering glower back at the Scourge before stomping under the large tent of the medcenter. Theron didn’t even register sitting down on a cot, or when a medical droid began to dispassionately diagnose his injuries from the fight.

As the kolto was pressed to his various cuts and scrapes, he couldn’t help but mull over the twisted truth in Scourge’s words. A year ago, Theron had the pick of four files for the raid on Korriban — the best and brightest the Republic had to offer. He’d needed a capable asset and had opted for the heaviest hitter in the bunch, the Jedi infamous for killing the Sith Emperor who had a reputation for pulling off the impossible time and time again. That reputation was well-earned, as was her infamy — even if recent events had seemingly undone the most heroic deed in her file.

All of this had started out as a mission, a means to an end.She’d been an asset, and he’d been her handler. Just one mission that had slowly but surely spiraled out of hand the further he’d entangled himself in the complex web that Revan had weaved. He hadn’t planned on becoming friends, definitely hadn’t expected it to go beyond that. Theron was SIS—a _spy_ —he worked best alone. Always had. He of all people didn’t have any claim over anyone.

The droid wrestled him out of his jacket and shirt to address his injured ribs. As it began to tightly wrap his chest, Theron couldn’t help but look past the myriad of injured to seek out just one person. There were so many faces from the battle prior to theirs at the temple, but he finally picked out the one he was looking for at the far end of the tent.

Grey was patiently but tiredly listening to her fussing medic as he applied a patch of kolto to a burn from one of Revan’s lightning blasts. As he watched her from afar, deep down he knew that the tightness in his chest had nothing to do with bruised ribs.

He might not have a claim over anyone, but he was starting to suspect that despite his own self-sabotaging ways, the reverse couldn’t be said.


	2. Gray Sky Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably note that this whole story is very, very deep into Theron’s point-of-view, and I don’t necessarily agree with all of it—just trying to convey his sometimes convoluted thought processes. (I tend to view him as an extremely biased and not completely reliable narrator at times.) At this stage in his life he’s… let’s say, more immature than he is after the KotFE timeskip. The game isn’t exactly shy about depicting this either, so I’m trying to stay within canon.

The medical droid had hit Theron with a painkiller while he had been distracted. On the one hand, it took the edge off his various aches so that he was able to slip into a dreamless rest for a few hours and his body had definitely needed that. On the other hand, he woke groggy and disoriented, still feeling the vestiges of the drugs in his system. It made him feel off-kilter and put him more on edge than he usually was. Usually he preferred the Jedi healing meditation that Ngani Zho had taught him when he was a young (and definitely not injury prone) initiate. It pushed the pain to the back of his mind while leaving him aware enough of his surroundings to focus. As much as Theron had needed the sleep, he didn’t like letting his guard down around this many Imperials, even if there were just as many Republic personnel around. Old habits and all that.

He reached for the datapad stowed on the narrow table next to his cot out of pure habit. Ever since landing on Yavin IV there had been a never ending stream of data for him to sort through — messages, intel, conflict reports — the influx had been so steady he’d shut off the notifications in his implants for anything but high priority items. He had gotten used to sorting through the relative muck of intelligence while he’d been on the run with Lana, Jakarro, and Deefour, but the sheer volume that the combined forces of the Yavin Coalition produced had been a bit of a surprise. 

Through bleary eyes he scanned through his messages, most of them not important enough to be tended to before his first cup of caf. The only one that caught his attention was a meeting invite — from his mother. 

 _Fantastic_. 

He definitely needed more caffeine to deal with that, possibly a whole bottle of whisky, but grudgingly he opened it up anyway. There was an unofficial debrief scheduled later in the day regarding the outcome of the battle with the Revanites. Also attending via holocomm would be… Jace Malcom and Marcus Trant.

A tension began to build in Theron’s temples, right next to his implants. It was completely unrelated to the minor injuries sustained during last night’s battle. He knew that Satele had been in some contact with Malcom, but Theron hadn’t been privy to those communications, and if he were being honest, he had been hoping to put off this particular reunion for much, _much_ longer. 

He’d been on the run for nearly a year, with an unscrupulous smuggler and Sith Lord as his companions. There were likely to be lots of questions. _Official_ questions that would be notated down in a permanent record of some sort. His involvement in all of this was something the Supreme Commander of Republic Forces and the Director of the S.I.S. couldn’t exactly sweep under the rug — if they even wanted to. While he was fairly certain Marcus understood the extenuating circumstances, Theron had no idea what to expect from his father. He’d learned from their work together on Project Endgame that Jace tended to get tunnel vision when Imperials were involved. It was completely possible this was what it looked like, a quick review of the Coalition’s efforts here on Yavin—or it was possibly a prelude to a court martial.

Theron needed caffeine, and a lot of it. He pulled himself out of the uncomfortable field cot that had served as his bed and quickly went about putting himself together, taking a few extra minutes to fix and repair the damage done to his hair by the downpour last night. If he was going to get drummed out of the S.I.S. officially this time, he was going to do it in style.

It didn’t take him long to emerge from his tent and start his search for caf. It was still early and the sun was still rising, or at least trying to. It was having a difficult time working its way through the lingering clouds and rain, so it was darker than it should have been and also a lot more crowded than he expected at this hour. 

The base of his spine began to prickle in warning as he passed by a group of Imperial soldiers huddled under a tent as he slowly made his way through basecamp, but he kept his expression as passive and pleasant as he could considering he hadn’t consumed any caffeine yet. The sheer number of both them and Sith still set his nerves on edge, even after all this time. There might technically have been a truce, but with their objective complete it wasn’t going to last much longer. Not that many seemed to notice that fact.

The feeling of victory was buzzing through the air, and it was possible that the celebrations had spilled over from the night before into the morning. Those who weren’t still recovering from the previous day’s battle were huddled together under tents. He caught a few cross-faction groups bunched together conspiratorially and pouring something from flasks into their mugs that he was fairly certain was not caf, if their raucous laughter was any indication. Despite his lingering unease, Theron couldn’t exactly blame them. Dealing with the Revanites had a strange way of forging friendships that didn’t necessarily stop once the fighting did.

The torrential rain had eased back into a drizzle sometime during the pre-dawn hours, but the overnight soaking turned the packed dirt into a muddy mess. A tarp had been placed over the conference table on the operations center of the camp to protect the equipment from the harsh weather, but the raised platform was empty of personnel. Most people seemed content to stay under the cover of the durasilk stretched out to form shelters and the only ones out in the mud seemed to be those unlucky few who had picked up guard duty.

Theron paused at the edge of the durasilk awning he was under as two towheaded women across the way caught his eye. Lana’s brighter shock of hair stood out against the gray mists, slightly frizzled due to the humid air, contrasting with the more muted dark blonde tones of her companion. Despite the earliness of the hour and the completion of their objective, they had both dressed in their armor and had lightsabers strapped on. They were the very image of readiness and practicality. 

He wondered if it was a shared love of pragmatism that had brought the small smile to the Grey’s face, or whether it was just something Lana had said. They were too far for him to overhear any conversation, but the Jedi let out a laugh about something — which for some reason made Theron’s gut churn angrily.

A derisive snort pulled his attention and Theron looked over to see Doc lounging on a supply crate he had claimed as a temporary roost. He hadn’t noticed the other man until now, a little too distracted by the sight of the two women together. The medic nursed a small mug, and Theron briefly wondered if he had partaken in the flasks that were going around camp. While he didn’t know the man well, it didn’t seem completely out of character.

“You’re in a good mood,” Theron grumbled.

“What’s not to be in a good mood about? We beat the bad guy, we made some new friends, and everyone’s having a lovely time.”

From the slight slur to Doc’s words Theron was pretty sure his theory about the flask was correct. “Some of us more than others.”

“You must be great at parties.”

“When I have to be.” He could be reasonably cheery and charming if he wanted to be—it just tended to usually happen as part of a larger assignment.

Doc snorted again before taking a long sip off his mug. “Have you ever thought about taking this stand-up routine on the galactic circuit? If you bring Rusk along, you guys could make a killing.”

Seeing as how Theron had heard maybe three or four sentences total from the Chagrian in the entirety that he’d known him, that was unlikely. “Only if he opened fire on the crowd.”

Doc choked on on his sip of not-caf, sputtering as he tried to keep from aspirating. Theron just leaned against one of the poles holding up the durasilk overhang and watched the medic’s struggles with nothing more than a raised brow. After a few moments of coughing, Doc finally managed to regain his composure.

“See what I mean?” he said hoarsely. “Your jokes are deadly.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Doc just shook his head and returned to nursing his mug, leaving Theron to look back across the camp at the unusual pair that had first grabbed his attention. Lana was standing just a little too close to the Jedi than called for as temporary allies. Heck, even between friends. He pursed his lips, trying to squelch the angry bubbling in his gut.

“That’s not a good look on you,” Doc pointed out casually.

Theron slid his glare over to the medic. It was too early to have to deal with this sort of thing. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I thought spies were better liars.”

“I can tell a few more ‘jokes’ if you’d prefer. See if that mug can finish you off.”

“You’re just a bright ray of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?” Doc leveled him with a look.

“I was just standing here.”

“Yeah, and if you glared any harder you’d burn a hole through Lana’s cloak.”

“I’m not glaring. I’m thinking.”

“Oh yeah? About what?”

Theron was thinking about the way the freckles dotting Grey’s cheeks crinkled when she would flash that shy smile of hers. About the way her eyes sparkled when she’d glance his way when no one was looking. About the quiet way she’d choke back a laugh, as if she was trying to hold it in and hide it from the world. And about how a certain someone who had no qualms with getting people captured and tortured as a shortcut to gaining intel had earned the right to share in any of those things.

“I’m just wondering how anyone can be that chatty at this hour without caffeine,” he said.

“Maybe she just needs a friendly ear right now. It was a long night.”

Theron did not see how Lana would qualify as either a friendlier ear or better conversationalist than him, nor did he realize that his frown had set back in until Doc gave him a long, careful look.

“She was pretty quiet last night.” At Theron’s arched brow, Doc added. “I mean quieter than usual.”

That was true. She had been. But she was just tired. It had been a long battle—and an even longer day. Except… there had been that look on her face as she’d been trudging back through the rain. Drawn and blank, as if she hadn’t quite been standing next to him. The way she’d seemed to check out of reality when—

—a high-pitched titter pulled Theron from his thoughts, and he looked over to see Lana giggling uncontrollably, the Sith grabbing onto Grey’s arm as she tried to control herself. He let out a frustrated breath. “Nothing can be _that_ funny.”

Doc’s mug clinked loudly against the crates as he leaned forward suddenly, spearing Theron with a look. “Did anyone ever tell you that green wasn’t your color?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jealousy isn’t a flattering trait for anyone, and you’re no exception.”

“I’m not jealous of Lana,” Theron said flatly, “I just don’t trust her.”

“ _Right_. Just in general, or is that distrust a little more centered on say, her intentions towards a certain Jedi?”

“I’m just saying from recent experience, it doesn’t pay to get too cozy with a Sith.”

Doc let out an exasperated breath, and tried to cover his irritation by taking another long pull off his mug. “Some might say the same about the SIS.”

“They might,” Theron ground out. “What of it?”

“Just pointing out the facts. Your profession doesn’t exactly produce the most trustworthy of people either.” Before Theron could say anything in retort to that, Doc forged on. “Can I give you a little friendly advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Don’t be a sore winner.”

Theron bristled at the insinuation. “This isn’t some sort of game where someone comes out with a prize at the end.”

“Guess it depends on what kind of game you’re used to playing.” Doc muttered darkly as he stared into his mug. 

Theron thought back to the awkward conversation they’d had on Rishi, when Doc had been trying to patch the injured spy up after everyone had escaped from the Revanite’s stronghold. The medic had been fairly blunt and straightforward in his threats towards Theron if a certain Jedi Knight wound up getting her heart broken. He’d also picked up some pretty strong hints that Doc himself had failed at his own attempts to strike up a more personal relationship with his current boss. Or perhaps, just a completely physical one. Theron had briefly perused Kimble’s file when he was digging into the different crews that could be called on for the Korriban mission, but he’d seen the long list of known female associates and read between the lines. Womanizers like him weren’t exactly subtle.

And to the matter at hand, this was far from some game to pass the time. The whole concept of a winner and loser when it came to someone else’s affections didn’t sit right with Theron. It made a sport out of some very complicated, muddy feelings that he really didn’t want to look at too closely in the first place. 

“I’m not the fun and games type,” he finally said.

“ _That_ I’ll believe in a heartbeat.” Doc looked up from his mug, and stared Theron straight in the eye. “Look, I’m not saying that you and Lana need to hug it out, but just remember there’s a third person involved here. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t done anything to earn that glare or distrust.”

Theron crossed his arms as if that might shield himself from the actual logic contained in that statement. Sadly, it didn't. As much as it grated on him to admit it, the man actually made sense. The woman in question had in fact not let Theron down yet. Which was a bit of a novelty in itself.

“You might have a point there.”

“Of course I do,” Doc said brightly. “I’m amazing.”

Theron eyed the mug. “That’s not filled with caf, is it?”

“It’s not filled at _all._ ” The medic grinned, then rose to his feet and stretched. “I’m going to get a refill. Want some?”

“Is there actual caffa wherever you’re heading?”

“You’ll have to go visit the wet blankets on the other side of the camp for _that_.”

“Then that will be a pass,” Theron said.

“Your loss.”


	3. The Most Important Meal of the Day

It took Theron a good twenty minutes to navigate through the muddy mess, weaving through various tents and groups before he finally found the so-called ‘wet blankets’ and the largely untouched carafe of caf that had been brewed earlier. Staring at the large stack of mugs, he hesitated briefly before grabbing two on an impulse and filled them both to the brim. He tried not to think too deeply on what he was doing as he carefully picked his way back through the camp, doing his best to stay under cover to keep the precious liquid from getting watered down by the morning drizzle.

By the time he reached his destination, Lana had apparently already moved on with her day, and his quarry was staring off into the jungle. The large pauldrons of the Jedi’s armor jutted out out as she crossed her arms, making her appear just a little larger as her cape fluttered behind her gently. Even from a distance he could see the deep-set frown on her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it. She’d certainly been in a much lighter mood when he’d started his search for caf.

Wherever Grey’s mind had wandered, her attention was clearly no longer here in the camp. He could easily sneak up on her in her current state, which considering her proficiency with the blades clipped to her belt, was probably not the wisest move. Instead, he intentionally made an extra bit of noise, boots slopping loudly through the mud. She didn’t jump exactly, but her head snapped over to look at him, the movement more closely resembling a startled animal than that of a calm Jedi Master. It took a few extra moments for recognition to set in, but her guarded look melted away into something with the hints of a smile.

“Oh, Theron, you’re awake.”

“Not quite,” he said lightly, “haven’t had my first cup of caf.”

“And yet you still found time to fix your hair this morning.”

“You don’t think I just wake up looking like this?”

“Not even your hair could survive the rain last night.” Despite the mood he’d interrupted, he thought he almost caught a mischievous glint in her eye. Although he had no idea where she was heading with this, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge it.

“I had been hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“Why? The drowned womprat look was kind of cute.”

His mouth flopped open before he shut it with an audible click. She sucked her lips in, clearly trying to contain her mirth. As offended as he wanted to be for the insult to his style, her reaction was honestly a little too adorable for him to really be annoyed. But he still managed to summon at least a half-hearted glower for the benefit of his pride.

“ _Very_ funny.”

She pressed her lips together tighter, clearly pleased with her little joke and his reaction. Seeing as it had chased away that frown, he decided to let it pass. This time.

It took another moment before Grey was able to swallow her laughter enough to indicate the two mugs he was still carrying. “That is quite a lot of caffa for one person. Do you normally need that much to just wake up?”

“No,” he admitted, “although maybe I should since I apparently look like a drowned womprat.”

“You look like a stylish womprat this morning if that helps any.”

“Well, in _that_ case,” Theron said with an exaggerated bit of sarcasm, “then I guess this second mug is still for you.”

“You brought me caffa?” She tried to hide her reaction by ducking her head, but Theron still caught the corners of her mouth twitching as if she were trying to fight back a smile. “That’s very thoughtful.”

“It _was_ a long walk,” he agreed and gently pressed the mug into her hands, “through the mud.”

Her fingers wrapped around the handle, brushing against his briefly. Even though they were both wearing gloves, a thrill shot down his spine all the same. She pulled the mug back towards her and peeked over the brim at him. “Thank you.”

It was such a simple look, not much of anything really, but he felt his stomach clench as she peered back at him gratefully. Whether it was for the caf or the company, he wasn’t sure. But he’d count it in the win column either way. “I figured I owed you at least one drink after all of this.”

She paused before taking her sip, brow wrinkling in what could have been a playful frown. “I thought you only did that when you wanted to talk about conspiracies.”

“ _Only_ in a cantina,” he teased, “and as Jakarro has been fond of pointing out, Yavin IV is decidedly lacking in the cantina department.”

“So you haven’t discovered a cult dedicated to a different long-dead ancestor that we need to investigate while you were eating breakfast?”

His eyes sparkled as he took a small sip from his mug. “Well, I haven’t had breakfast _yet_.”

She hid her smile behind her mug, and Theron found himself taking another slow drag on his own to try and mask his reaction as well. Despite the long walk, steam still wafted up from the hot beverage. The brew had a bitter tang from being left in the carafe so long, but was warm enough to ward away a bit of the morning chill. Once the rain stopped, the normal swelter of the jungle would probably return, but for the moment, it was nice.

A lot of people tended to pour in heaps of sweetener and cream in their caf to mask the actual flavor, which always seemed a bit pointless to Theron. An adrenal was much quicker and more efficient if all someone needed was a stimulant. But his companion gave off a small sound of contentment as she took her first sip, seeming to savor the bitterness. It was one of the many curious things about her that he’d discovered over the past year.

Just when he thought he’d nailed down exactly who she was, it was like another layer would be peeled back. She’d been a puzzle before he’d even met her, right from the moment he’d discovered the carefully redacted six months from her personnel file. He’d expected a humorless Jedi intent only on the job, but instead she’d matched him wit for wit on their first conversation over the holo. Had doggedly persisted on befriending him during his investigation into Darok and the Revanites. Try as he might, Theron didn’t quite get her, and he _hated_ leaving a mystery unsolved.

Perhaps that was part of the attraction.

She continued to sip lightly at the steaming mug, eyes closed as if in pure bliss. He could have made a wisecrack about her enjoying it so much, but the words didn’t even form on his lips. He didn’t want to ruin the comfortable silence—or that tiny little smile.

She took a few more sips in silence, before she finally set her mug down on the high stack of crates next to her. “How are you feeling today?”

“I can’t complain,” he said lightly.

“Are you sure?” Her brown wrinkled in concern. “After the fight you seemed like you were hurting.”

“It was nothing that couldn't be fixed by a good night’s sleep courtesy a sneaky medical droid.”

She seemed less than convinced by that statement.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, it had probably been the most uninterrupted sleep he had gotten since they’d landed on Yavin IV.While he’d had extensive training to withstand what he’d gone through on Rishi, the sleeping mind had a way of replaying things he’d consciously locked away to a small corner of his brain. He wasn’t sure if the dreamless sleep had been due to the drugs or the fact that the specter haunting his dreams finally having been laid to rest in the real world—either way, he was grateful to not to hear Revan’s metallic voice echoing in his head for at least one night.

Maybe he did owe that sneaky little droid some thanks. While there was a little soreness, all-in-all he had come away from the battle mostly unscathed. His ribs were a little tender, but didn’t really hamper his movement. The kolto had dealt with most of the pain, not to mention had already healed the worst of the lightning burns he’d sustained. And sure, he could have said all of that aloud, but it was much easier to just change the subject. 

“What about you? It’s awful early for you to be dressed so… prepared. Don’t tell me you sleep in that.”

“It’s not very comfortable sleepwear,” she said lightly.

“Did _you_ sleep?”

“Some,” she admitted quietly. “Not as well as you did, I’m afraid.”

He frowned and set his mug down as well. If there was one thing he’d learned in this past year, it was to not doubt her instincts. “Are you expecting some sort of trouble?”

“No, I,” she looked away, back off into the jungle, “I had a few things on my mind is all.”

“Thought Jedi usually meditated on that sort of thing.”

“The energy on this planet is very dark,” she said, still not looking at him. “It can make meditation difficult.”

Theron noticed the word choice there, but chose not to comment on it as he hadn’t exactly given her a straight answer to her question either. He of all people understood wanting to keep things close to the vest and not share their innermost thoughts.

So instead, he picked up her mug and placed it back in her hands. “In that case, it sounds like you need a little bit more caffeine.”

She flashed him a grateful look. “You might be right about that.”

“You can always have my mug too if you need it.”

“Just the one is good for now,” she smiled, “thank you.”

“Well, I do owe you more than just one drink,” he said, voice dropping low, “a lot more.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Grey said quietly.

“I think we’re going to have to disagree on that,” his voice was a little rougher than he liked, “so I’ll start slow… and right now, that seems like providing you with however many mugs of caf you need to stay awake.”

“I appreciate the caf,” she said, measuring her words carefully, “but would prefer you not feel any obligation towards me.”

“Obligation isn’t really the right word to describe what I’m feeling.”

“Then what is?”

“There’s not really _one_ word,” he said quietly, “everything’s kind of jumbled together. But obligation has nothing to do with it, I know that much at least.”

Her eyes crinkled as she hid another smile behind the ruse of drinking from her mug, and he thought that maybe she understood what he meant, even if he didn’t have the right words at that moment to describe it.

This whole situation was playing with fire, and Theron knew he should just let it go. There were so many reasons to not even think about getting involved with a member of the Jedi Order, and if anyone knew the long-lasting consequences of that it should have been him. Maybe it was just his contrary nature, that he knew it was against a set of rules chiseled in stone somewhere, or maybe it went even beyond his deeply ingrained need to punch back at authority. Except when she smiled at him like she did, he felt his stomach flop, like something was trying to escape from inside of him. Not pursuing this, letting this chance go before he found out where this road ended seemed like a much worse idea.

His gaze drifted down to the twin sabers clipped to her belt, taking in the swirls intricately carved into the long silver hilts. A few nicks and scratches marred the otherwise pristine casing, but if he looked closer, he could just make out the almost clean break near each of the pommels that signified they were once one piece. The modified grips at the end of each piece expertly disguised that the original whole had been cleaned in two by a lightsaber.

“So, I heard there’s an interesting story behind these.” He bumped her hip lightly with his, jostling the saber. The contact made her cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink, an action that sent a zing straight down his spine and into another area of his body entirely.

“I don’t—“

“Your lightsabers,” he clarified, just able to suppress a grin. “I was talking to Satele on the trip from Rishi and couldn’t help but notice the similarity.”

It had been one of the few subjects that hadn’t been completely and utterly awkward, so he’d deftly tried to maneuver the conversation in that direction when she’d start to bring up less desirable subjects. Like his year long exile from the Republic. Or her wanting to use the Force to heal the wounds he’d received as Revan’s “guest”.

“Oh, I guess they are,” she said, still a bit flustered. “What did she say?”

“Not much,” he admitted, “just that they used to be one piece, from her original dualsaber, back from the first war.That it was destroyed in a battle with a Sith. She didn’t mention which one… but I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Darth Malgus,” Theron said, and leaned his hip against the stack of crates so he wouldn’t be tempted to try and bring that blush back to her cheeks.

Grey nodded, ever so slightly. He wondered exactly how much she knew of the history of her own blades, or if she was just humoring him right now. “Malgus was a formidable opponent.”

“When you faced him… was it with that pair?” he asked curiously.

She nodded. “It’s a curious connection.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways?” Theron crooked an eyebrow.

“It can.” She shot him a look that said she picked up on the undercurrent of sarcasm. “Do you know what battle the original saber was broken during?”

“Alderaan is my best guess.”

“Wasn’t Jace Malcom a part of that battle?”

“Pretty big part,” he said casually.

“And he and Master Shan… they were quite close once, weren’t they?”

“You could say that.” He should have changed the subject, should have done anything but say the next words that came out of his mouth. “Seeing as Jace is my father.”

“He’s your…” Her eyes widened. “Then that means…”

He couldn’t stop the laugh this time at the almost scandalized look on her face. The fact that she hadn’t known meant that the knowledge of who both his parents were wasn’t extremely widespread, which was good for him in the long run. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned it so casually, but watching her puzzle through the various facts to their ultimate conclusion was too amusing.

“Wait, you’re how old—“

“Don’t do the math,” he snickered, “you won’t like the answer.”

“It wasn’t… _that_ night was it?”

“Probably not,” his eyes sparkled in mirth. “You’ll have to forgive me for not looking _that_ deeply into the exact date of my conception.”

Her hand brushed over one of her sabers, her embarrassment melting away as a contemplative look settled on her face. “That’s… interesting actually.”

“No, it’s not! The less everyone thinks about my _parents_ having—“

“Not _that.”_ She flashed him a patient smile. “Well, not that exactly.”

“I’m not following.”

“When you think about it, we already had a connection of sorts, before we even met.” She flicked one of the sabers for clarification.

That thought shouldn’t have fired up that strange light in Theron’s belly, but for some reason it did. He eyed the lightsabers with renewed interest, recalling some of Master Zho’s words about the importance of it being an extension of a Jedi. It was what they used to defend themselves and others, and fight back the forces of darkness. She had used hers to face down the Sith Emperor, a false Emperor, and countless other threats against the galaxy. Surprisingly, that was a connection he didn’t mind sharing, especially when the person he shared it with was her.

“The battle that led to this originally being broken wound up leading to you.” She met his eyes, and there was such warmth behind her smile, it briefly took his breath away and distracted him from all thoughts of his parents. “And then the pieces came to me after I…”

The warmth faded from her eyes as she trailed off, swallowing audibly. Her hand holding the mug began to tremble. It wasn’t enough to be visible from across the camp, but enough where he had noticed it. The transformation was so abrupt and complete it pulled Theron away from the crates, and he closed the space between the two of them without even realizing he was doing it. He gently cradled the shaking hand, stilling it before she spilled any of the hot liquid.

Belatedly, he recalled the conversation regarding the lightsaber and his mother’s hesitation to discuss the subject too in-depth. When he’d mentioned the similarity of the designs, she had mentioned there being a story that wasn’t hers to tell regarding the younger Jedi’s receiving of the hilts. If Theron had the flexibility to do so, he would have kicked himself.

Blue eyes stared ahead unfocused, lips barely forming the shape of words, but no sound came out. She might have been trying to say something about ‘birth’ or ‘rebirth’, or maybe it was just nonsense. He was at a complete loss for what to do in this situation and stood frozen, continuing to hold her hand to keep it from shaking.

“Everything really is connected together through the Force.” Her whisper was almost inaudible over the rain quietly drizzling on the durasilk awning.

If this was the sort of reaction that the Force and its connections brought, then it was really crappy as far as Theron was concerned. She looked completely haunted by whatever memories had been dredged up. He continued to watch her, mind racing to try and find something, _anything_ , to say that might somehow fix this. It was the same look she’d had the night before in the rain. Like she’d been lost to some other time in her life.

Doc had been trying to talk about _this_ , Theron realized. So had Satele, in her own way. And he hadn’t been listening either time, not really.His mind wandered back to the redacted six months in her file. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to wipe her record clean of whatever had transpired, and considering the reaction now… it was clear something _really_ bad had happened to the Jedi in front of him. Although he had no idea how a pair of lightsabers factored into all of this.

She blinked, her ragged breaths evening out as she slowly raised her gaze up to meet Theron’s. The haunted look hadn’t faded completely from her eyes, but he could see the embarrassment that was quickly covering it up. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean…”

“Hey,” he said quietly, still gently cradling her hand and the mug, “you don’t need to apologize.”

“No. I should. That was… no one wants to see that.”

“It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“No, no it’s not. I can’t be weak right now, not after… the galaxy can’t needs for me to—”

“I don’t care about the galaxy!” He snapped. “It can’t see you right now. Just me.”

“A Jedi should not have doubts.” She swallowed hard. “It doesn’t make people feel safe.”

“It doesn’t bother _me_. Everyone has doubts.” He squeezed the hand he was holding, and leaned in a little closer. “You’re allowed to be a person _and_ a Jedi. They’re not mutually exclusive concepts, you know.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze, and the look of utter shame and guilt that flooded her features made his insides twist in ways it never had before. He grabbed her free hand with his own, holding on tighter than was probably called for.

Someone else, _anyone_ else, should have been here in Theron’s place having this conversation. He was horrible at the interpersonal stuff and usually made things worse when he tried to fix things. It was one of the many, many reasons he shied away from maintaining personal relationships. But at the moment, his ineptitude didn’t seem that important.

“You don’t have to hide them away,” it felt like he was choking a little on the words, but he forced them out anyway, “your fears… doubts… you don’t have to pretend you’re invincible.”

“I know that,” she said, still not looking up, “but I have to face this alone.”

“Says who?”

She remained quiet for several long moments, and he started to wonder if anyone in particular had ingrained that deep stubbornness in her, or if it came about from too much meditation and contemplation. Master Zho had once accused him of something of the sort when he was a kid, there might have been some truth to it. He’d made a long habit of hiding who he was behind the person everyone expected him to be. It only made sense he’d been drawn to someone who did the exact same thing.

“Look, I can tell there’s something bothering you,” he said softly, “but I’m not going to pry.”

“No?”

“You don’t seem like you really want to talk about whatever it is that happened.” He gave her hands a brief squeeze. “I can respect that. We all have things from our pasts we’d rather forget.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he breathed. “But if down the road you find that you _do_ want to talk about it… I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Her laugh was a bit choked, and he thought he saw the hint of a shimmer in her eyes when she finally looked up at him. “Who said _that_?”

“Okay, you got me. No one’s ever told me that.” He cocked his head to the side and gave her his best approximation of a grin. “Just the opposite in fact. But, hey, you have to start somewhere, right?”

Her lips twitched, hinting at a smile. “I suppose you do.”

“And I’m sorry for dredging up bad memories,” he said quietly. “That was definitely not my intention.”

“I know.”

“Just thought you’d find that little tidbit about your blades… interesting.”

“It’s all right.” The smile she gave him this time was less forced. “I’m glad you told me about them. I like knowing more about their history. They’re… important to me. I’ve done a lot of good with them.”

Theron caught the hints of the deeper story no one would talk about in just those few words, but wanted to be true to his word, so he didn’t ask anything further. He also briefly wondered if she was talking about more than just the lightsabers, but decided he didn’t want to press there either. Some ambiguity never hurt anything.

Instead, he lightly jostled the half empty mug they were both cradling together. “Need a refill?”

“I still have a bit left,” she said, but didn’t pull her hands away. “And you did say it was a long walk.”

“Through the mud,” he reminded her.

“Then let’s not make you go through all that again.” She absently brushed her thumb against his fingers that still cradled her hand. It was _very_ distracting. “Besides, you’ve hardly touched yours. Seems like a long way to go for just one mug.”

“Might be worth it. Caf is the most important meal of the day.”

She hummed softly in agreement. “In that case, I think I should probably finish my cup before the rest of the camp decides to wake up.”

He took the hint, and reluctantly dropped his hold on her hands and leaned back against the crates. The disappointment that flashed across her features at the break in contact mirrored his own. It was for the best though, if anyone saw him holding her hands for such a long period of time they might get the wrong idea. Or rather, too good of an idea of the situation, and he didn’t want her dealing with any fallout on his account. One of them actually gave a crap about what the Jedi Council thought, and he needed to try and respect that.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, before she mimicked his actions, lightly bumping her hip against his as she settled in next to him. “Aren’t you going to finish yours?”

He cocked an eyebrow, but grabbed his mug and raised it to bear. “Of course. Can’t let a good thing go to waste.”

“No,” she smiled, “we can’t.”


	4. The Best Intentions

As morning wore on, the drizzle eased into a light mist and the camp began to rouse. The mugs of caf had long since been drained and Theron had reluctantly forced himself to begin tackling the mountain of paperwork waiting for him. That afternoon’s unofficial debrief loomed in the back of his mind, and in an effort to distract himself, he’d thrown himself into filling in as many details of the entire Revanite debacle on his official report, starting all the way back to the initial mission on Korriban.

Well. Most of the details. There were some interpersonal things that would _not_ be making their way into an official report. He was only a kiss-and-tell kind of guy when it was part of the official mission log. And this confusing thing he had with a certain Jedi Master was nobody’s business but their own.

Of course, focusing on his paperwork would have been much easier if he didn’t have to keep trying to stop one Doctor Archiban Kimble from second-guessing the excellent care of sneaky medical droids.

“Can’t you just read whatever the droid wrote and let it go?” Theron grumbled. “I have to finish this report.”

“And _I_ have to make sure that all of my hard work on Rishi wasn’t undone last night.”

“It wasn’t.” Theron glowered at him and then pointedly returned his attention to the datapad. “Now go away.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work this time.”

“What’s not? Speaking Basic?”

“Your overworked slicer schtick. No datapads during medical examinations. Doctor’s orders.”

“Didn’t stop you last time.”

“Yes, well, I made an exception then because my favorite Jedi was about to be blown to smithereens by your grandpa’s cult.”

“It’s a few more generations than just _grandfather_.”

“Eh, details.” The datapad was deftly plucked from the spy’s hands and stowed inside of of one of the medic’s inner pockets. “You get this back after we’re done.”

“You’ve got nerves of steel, Doc,” Theron warned. “I’ve shot people for less.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” The medic grinned. “I figure I’m safe. A certain Jedi is very fond of me and my untimely death would make her very sad.”

“And what makes you think that would affect my aim?”

The medic arched one dark brow, as if it was obvious. “You seemed pretty concerned earlier from what I saw. Holding hands and everything.”

Theron wasn’t able to suppress the curse that slipped out. It wasn’t exactly a private area they’d been in, but he had hoped everyone had been too busy with their celebrations to notice that unplanned moment. Of course, unplanned moments seemed to be the norm with her rather than the exception.

Not that he had the greatest track record with sticking to a plan — he tended to fly by the seat of his pants at the best of times. But even if he’d wanted to, he never could have accounted for that ridiculous pirate costume she had picked up from a street vendor for her undercover persona. Nor for the way she got drunk during one of Jakarro’s cantina outings—forcing Theron to figure out how to transport a hopelessly inebriated Jedi back to their hideout without either of them getting shivved in a back alleyway. Or the way her grip on him had lingered before she’d left for that last battle on Rishi, practically shouting the order for Doc to stay behind and take care of him.

And actually if Theron thought about it longer, the one consistent factor in all of _that_ had been the medic currently pulling out his scanner so he could begin to examine the chest of his very reluctant patient. As Doc had been the one to help her pick out that stupid outfit, had left an entire pitcher of fruity alcoholic drinks on the table after leaving their team gathering in a snit, and had been just as annoying at insisting on making sure Theron didn’t have any life-threatening internal injuries just like he was _now_.

The medic let out a quiet chuckle, apparently mistaking the reasoning for the glare pointed in his direction.

“Don’t worry, I made a lot of loud and rousing toasts over in my area of camp. Your aloof reputation is safe amongst the larger crowd.”

“I get the impression that wasn’t for my benefit,” Theron grumbled.

“No, it wasn’t.” Doc narrowed an eyebrow at the tiny screen in front of him, and started to do some more detailed scans over the previously injured area, as if he needed to double-check something. “But if getting a camp of Imperial and Republic troops inebriated in the early hours of the morning is what it takes to get that woman a small moment of peace, I’ll make that sacrifice for the greater good.”

“How _magnanimous_ of you.”

“It’s a heavy burden sometimes, being such a hero.”

“Are you still drunk?”

“Eh, sober enough to look you over.”

“I think I feel safer with the droid.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a horrible patient?”

“Probably about as often as you’ve gotten complaints about your bedside manner.”

“You be quiet and let me finish.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll call your mother over here.” Doc grinned.

“I swear I’m changing my last name when I get back to Republic space,” Theron muttered darkly.

“ _I’ll_ still know.”

“Two can play at that game, _Archiban_.”

Doc shot him a dirty look, but returned to fiddling with his scanner. “Look, I know you’ve got your own reasons, but still… thanks for looking out for her.”

Theron indeed had his own reasons, but much to his chagrin, none of them seemed to stem from anything remotely resembling _reason_. Of course, he hadn’t really ever been accused of being the most logical agent in SIS. However, there was no way he was admitting that aloud. “I get the impression that you and your crew have been through a lot.”

“Some of us more than others,” Doc muttered darkly.

“Yeah.” Theron pursed his lips. “Got that impression too.”

Considering Grey’s reaction earlier, that was putting it mildly. He was regretting not having figured out what had been redacted before they had gotten to this point—and before he’d made a promise to not pry. Of course, that six month gap had nearly put him off selecting her for the Korriban mission completely. If he’d done that, then he wouldn’t currently have to be listening to Doc ramble on. Of course, then he wouldn’t have met her either.

Something inside his chest twisted. It was probably because he’d been an idiot and had drank too much caf this morning instead of having a real breakfast. He probably needed to find something more substantial before the debrief this afternoon. Or maybe he could just choke a ration bar down as he didn’t really have much of an appetite at the moment.

Doc gave him a funny look, almost as if he’d been reading the spy’s inner thoughts. Theron didn’t really want to get a lecture on his poor diet on top of everything else this morning, so he just glared at the ground instead.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask.”

“I might be a spy,” he ground out, “but I can respect boundaries. I’m not going to force her to relive anything just to satisfy my curiosity.”

“While I appreciate the gesture,” Doc said quietly, “I think things are going to come to a head sooner or later, whether or not you ask anything.”

Theron glared at the ground, not sure what to make of the internal war raging inside of his gut. “She’s still got you and the rest of your crew. Should be enough, right?”

The medic let out a sad sigh and shook his head, but didn’t say anything else on the subject. There wasn’t much to say, Theron had already made a promise not to pry, and he wasn’t about to go back on that. Keeping promises wasn’t exactly something most people in his line of work did. Although this wasn’t work. This was… it was…

It was none of his damn business is what it was.

And he _knew_ that. Despite his chosen profession, there were some lessons from his childhood he’d had a hard time shaking off. A lot of adjustments—sacrifices even—had to be made in order to get the mission done, because that served a higher purpose in a way he couldn’t with his natural born talents, or lack thereof. It was often a struggle to be the person that Ngani Zho had raised him to be, and beyond just that, he _wanted_ to be a man of his word. At least with the important people.

And she was... yeah. She was one of them.

It took a lot to get under his skin, but that little Jedi had managed it quite effectively. And despite his best efforts, he was just along for the ride at this point, that much was clear.

“Well,” Doc said, barely managing to keep irritation from bleeding into his tone, “looks like between my wonderful skills as a medic, a little help from the Grand Master, and that barely adequate droid, you’re going to be just fine.”

“I already told you that,” Theron said, his own frustration mounting. “If you had just believed me then we could have avoided this whole awkward conversation.”

“Yeah, well,” Doc said lightly, stowing his medical scanner, “I had to be sure. It would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t ensure that you were in peak physical condition before taking on any… _strenuous_ activity.”

The insinuation on what the medic thought of Theron’s intentions was all too clear, and he couldn’t help but snarl. “ _That_ is none of your damn business.”

“I’m just looking out for your welfare,” Doc grinned. “You wouldn’t want to sprain anything. That would definitely kill the mood.”

“I am _not_ having this conversation with you.”

“I assume you know all about using protection—“

“Give me my datapad!”

“And I expect you to behave like a proper gentleman.”

Theron’s hand curled into a fist, and it took all of his effort to keep it down at his side. “ _Now_.”

Doc sighed dramatically, but pulled out the requested device with dramatic flair. “Fine, fine.”

The spy snatched the device and started to move away from the medic with a quickness.

“Oh, and Theron?”

“ _What_?” he tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his frustration and not slowing his hasty retreat in the slightest.

“I meant what I said back on Rishi.” The joviality had faded from Doc’s tone, leaving behind a steel certainty. “I know every way to cleanly break any bone in the body. I would keep that in mind if I were you.”

“You threatening me?”

“Only if you hurt her.”

“You and Scourge should form a club.”

“Not my first choice, but I’ll consider it. If it comes to that.”

Theron beat a quick retreat to the safety of one of the private tents before he could be pulled back into anything resembling conversation with the medic. He had no desire to hear any more advice on his love life. Or hear about the ways in which he would be maimed if things didn’t somehow go according to Doc’s outdated notions of romance. For possibly the first time in his career, Theron couldn’t _wait_ to get lost in the minutiae of the Republic’s endless trail of paperwork.


	5. The Nature of Attachment

Either Marcus Trant was slipping as he aged, or it was the fuzzy connection on the secure holocall, but Theron could have sworn he saw actual relief on the Director’s face. The man standing next to him made no effort to disguise his emotions.

“Theron, it’s good to see you again.” Jace Malcom’s voice was filled with a warmth that the spy wasn’t sure he’d actually thought possible from the man. Definitely unexpected considering the current circumstances. “You as well, Grand Master.”

His mother bowed her head slightly, and although the action probably wouldn’t be seen on the far end considering the quality of the connection, Theron clearly saw the corners of her mouth tick upward in a smile. He flicked his gaze back to see Marcus shift a little next to Jace. Even though they were separated by at least half a galaxy, he could read the tension in both of their stances.

He could only begin to guess the reason for that. Probably the less-than-perfect resolution to the Revanite situation as a whole, and hopefully not in regards to a certain spy. There was no way to tell what the official response regarding him was going to be now that everything was over. Technically, he was still classified as a rogue agent — there was every possibility his final destination was a jail cell.

“It’s good to see you both,” Satele said, voice as serene as always. “We apologize for not talking face-to-face sooner, but considering everything that has happened, some… discretion was called for.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when we would join forces with the Sith,” Jace grumbled.

Theron didn’t know him quite well enough to be able to read his tone, but Satele apparently did, and she frowned. “It was necessary, as we face a much larger threat.”

“Yes,” Marcus cut in, apparently trying to diffuse the situation, “both yours and Theron’s reports made for some very interesting reading.”

“Interesting is not the word I’d use, especially considering what happened on Rishi,” Jace growled, and Theron could detect a hint of a barely suppressed rage in his tone. “But what’s done is done.”

He wasn’t sure if the source of his father’s anger had more to do with the near destruction of Satele’s fleet, Theron’s capture by the Revanites, all of the Republic traitors, or just their general temporary alliance with the Sith Empire. He slid his glance over at his mother, who met his eye and shook her head ever so slightly as a warning for him to not engage the subject further at the moment. Not that he would over an open line, no matter how secure he had made the transmission.

“I am glad that we have a chance to speak,” Satele said, trying to get the conversation back on track, “before all of the reports are finalized.”

That was probably the most diplomatic way Theron had heard for everyone getting their stories straight. Considering the amount of time Satele’s fleet had been out of position, a unified front between her and the Supreme Commander would be harder for Saresh to criticize too harshly—or punish those following the Grand Master’s lead. He may not always understand her or her decisions, but Theron certainly didn’t envy the constant political maneuvering she had to endure. If their positions had been reversed, he would have probably snapped and started a civil war within a week.

“Yes,” Marcus sniffed, not looking over at Jace, “both the Supreme Commander and I have had a chance to review everything. Both yours _and_ Theron’s reports were very detailed.”

Theron was pretty sure the “much to my surprise” was implied at the end of the director’s statement. Usually Theron was pretty succinct and to-the-point in his write-ups, but if that was going to be his last report to the SIS, he might as well give them as much intel as possible.

“Yes,” Jace said, the anger bleeding out of his voice, “considering everything that happened, you made the right call.”

“I thank you for your support.” Satele bowed her head. “I take it that you’re preparing a brief for Chancellor Saresh?”

“Yes,” Marcus said, the sigh clearly audible over the line. “We have a meeting with her scheduled first thing in the morning. I expect she’ll likely contact you for more… details.”

“We shall be waiting for her call,” the Grand Master said oh so diplomatically, clasping her hands behind her back.

Theron shifted the weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Satele had requested him join her on the unofficial holocall, he had a feeling that it was going to be about more than just the Revanites. Without moving her hands from behind her back, Theron caught her make a motion at him out of the corner of his eye, and he reluctantly stilled his fidgeting. As Jace had said, what was done was done.

Still, he’d feel a little more at ease once he knew what he was going to be walking into once he left the tent.

“When do you expect your forces to withdraw from Yavin IV?” Jace asked, tone back to its usual business-like quality.

“Darth Marr and I had a brief meeting this morning to discuss our next steps,” she said neutrally. “We will both be withdrawing soon, but it is of our opinion that we both leave a small contingent behind to monitor the situation and make sure the Revanites that remain do not rebuild their strength.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” Jace asked skeptically. “How long do you expect a joint-force to maintain this truce?”

“The wisest course of action is to deploy our troops where they’re needed most, as always,” she said patiently. “The Republic needs direct intelligence regarding the whereabouts of the Emperor. Seeing as how he escaped from here, we should not take any chances.”

“The Emperor’s ‘essence’ escaped you mean,” Marcus added, doubt dripping from his tone. “Previous reports from the Order assured us that one of your own had already handled the matter.”

Theron’s gut churned angrily at the insinuation that the Jedi in question was somehow responsible for this whole predicament, but he shoved it down, literally biting his tongue in order to remind himself to keep quiet. It was a fair assessment after all. The flow of information between the SIS and the Jedi Order was not as open and free flowing as it could be—from either direction really. And Marcus was only working off of intel gleaned from heavily redacted files. He’d never met the woman in question. Hadn’t had to rely on her over and over, had no reason to form a deep trust that was probably more of a hindrance in this profession. Marcus certainly hadn’t been witness to that terrifying light show last night, hadn’t felt that deep, ancient Dark Side presence literally rock the ground and knock him from his feet as it escaped its deep slumber. Theron had _tried_ to put at least some of that in his report, but it was unreasonable for him to expect Marcus to _get_ that.

The director was just being professional and asking necessary questions to clarify the official record. Nonetheless, Theron bristled at the statement, and had a difficult time schooling his reaction. But it was Satele who surprised him.

She rolled her shoulders back as if squaring up for a fight, back ramrod straight as stood taller, staring resolutely to the flickering holographic forms in front of her. Her tone wasn’t what he’d call icy, but it was very firm, and there was no mistaking the warning in it. “We gave the most accurate information to both the Republic and the SIS that we had at the time. The knight in question is one of the best in our order, and I do not doubt her abilities nor her word.”

“We aren’t casting doubt on Master Highwind nor the Jedi Order,” Jace cut in, physically taking a step in front of Marcus, hands held up placatingly, “but we _had_ considered the matter of the Emperor handled.”

“As much as I wish it were otherwise, things are rarely that straightforward with the Force,” Satele said, and while some of the warning had left her tone, but it had not softened in the slightest. “We are dealing with a very dangerous Dark Side entity that is over a millennia old. Infighting, politicking, and trying to cast blame will only aid him as he regains his power.”

It was funny. Before all of this, Theron hadn’t ever thought he’d ever understand his mother’s feelings on any subject, much less something to do with the Force. They hadn’t exactly had much of common ground in which to build anything resembling a normal familial relationship. They probably still didn’t — but they were in a hundred percent agreement when it came to this.

“All the more reason that we discuss this before our meeting with the chancellor later,” Jace countered. “It is easier to explain our position when I understand it completely.”

There was a peculiar energy in this conversation. It made Theron feel a little uncomfortable, as if he was witnessing some remnant of the past replay in front of him. After the Battle of Duros, he’d been quick to make himself scarce, the thought of an extended ‘family reunion’ made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Watching them face off now, even over the holo, he had to wonder if there had been this same kind of tension back during the first war. Or if this was just some remnant of what had drove them apart in the first place. Or together.

It was one of the many questions he had never asked, and honestly didn’t want to know. Theron gave a sidelong glance to Marcus on the far end of the call, and took some solace in the fact that his boss seemed just about as uncomfortable as him.

“I do not believe there is enough time before your meeting to explain the deep intricacies of the Force.” It was difficult to tell if that was humor in her tone, but he swore he could see her lips twitching ever so slightly. “However, I can try to clear up what I can in regards to the matters on Yavin IV.”

The breath Theron let out was low and long, subtle enough to not attract attention but still enough to release his frustration. He really hoped he hadn’t been invited to this meeting to listen to the head of the Jedi Order drone on about the endless mysteries of the Force. Actually, he still wasn’t sure why he was here. None of this so far had anything to do with him, and for some reason Satele hadn’t felt the need to draft out an agenda for her unofficial meeting. But thankfully it wasn’t some Padawan-grade lecture, as she tried to once again explain their coordinated efforts here on Yavin, the strange turn of events regarding Revan, and how the not-so-dead-but-sort-of former Sith Emperor fit into all of that.

Hearing it summarized up succinctly, Theron couldn’t exactly fault either Marcus or Jace for looking quite so skeptical.

“So, we’re supposed to be on the look out for an incorporeal being that feeds off violence and death of others?” Marcus couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his tone. “I’ll get my best agent right on that.”

“I apologize, Director. I understand that the matters of the Force aren’t always the most,” Satele paused, trying to find the right word, “logical. Your skepticism is understandable.”

“We believe you, Grand Master,” Jace sighed, “if you say it happened, then it did. Force ghosts and undead ancestors and all.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Supreme Commander. As well as the fact that matters of the Force are not easy to convey to higher authorities.”

“That’s why we’re happy to let _you_ explain the finer details to the Chancellor when she calls.” If Theron didn’t know better, he almost thought he detected an undercurrent of mischievousness to Jace’s tone.

“I’m looking forward to it.” From the thin line her lips were pressed in, it appeared that Satele was anything but.

“Ah, Theron, you’ve been unusually quiet,” Marcus said lightly, finally acknowledging the spy standing in the background of the call. “You haven’t lost your voice since I last saw you? That would be _such_ a pity.”

“Nope,” he shot back, “just waiting for my turn to speak.”

“Master Shan,” Marcus intoned solemnly, “are you sure he’s feeling well? This is all very out-of-character.”

“Agent Shan is fine,” she assured, although it seemed like she was directing the statement more at Jace for some reason. “His efforts in uncovering the Revanite conspiracy cannot be understated. The Republic owes him a great debt of gratitude.”

“That much we can agree on,” Jace said, not bothering to hide the pride in his voice.

It was a really strange thing to hear, and that it was directed in Theron’s direction made him resist the urge to shift uncomfortably, even as some of the tension drained out of him. Apparently he wasn’t here to get some sort of private court martial. That was a relief. He thought.

“Too bad almost all of this has to remain classified,” Jace mused, not missing a beat. “Would have been fun pinning another medal on his chest.”

“No medals are necessary,” Theron said, hopefully not too quickly. The semi-private ceremony after Duros had been uncomfortable enough. Even as limited as that display had been had made him feel like his back was far too exposed.

“Considering your contributions in this matter,” Marcus said slowly, clearly enjoying watching his top agent squirm, “your status as a rogue agent has been rescinded.”

Even as well trained as he was, Theron couldn’t keep the sigh of relief from escaping. He _really_ hadn’t been looking forward to the permanent life of a fugitive (because if anyone thought they were slapping a pair of cuffs on him, they were in for a rude awakening.) He’d been focused on finishing the task at hand, and had tried not to give too much thought to the future until Satele’s message that morning. He really didn’t have much of a life to speak of outside of the job, for about as long as he could remember it had been what he’d gone to sleep thinking about, and what he woke up looking forward to.Not having it… well, thankfully he didn’t have to try and figure that out now.

He saw the hints of a smile return to his mother’s face, and he forced himself to focus on the director before either of his parents embarrassed him any further in front of his boss. Feeling like a kid called into a parent-teacher conference was not something the rest of his colleagues at the SIS had to deal with. Lucky bastards.

“I take it that means I’m back on the payroll?” he asked lightly.

“As much as it pains me,” Marcus said sarcastically, “yes. You’re to be fully reinstated.”

“And?” Jace prompted.

“With a raise,” Marcus sighed. “But no back pay!”

The Supreme Commander cleared his throat, and Trant amended: “Fine, we’ll discuss the _details_ later.”

That seemed to mollify Jace somewhat. Although why he cared about the status of Theron’s bank account was a little baffling. “Considering the threat we’re up against, we’re going to need to create a joint task force in tracking down the Emperor. It’s going to take all of us to contain this threat.”

“Agreed,” Satele said. “I am still in the process of debriefing the Jedi Council on everything that has transpired. We will choose a representative shortly and send you their name.”

“There’s some paperwork that still has to be ironed out on this end,” Marcus tried not to sound too put out, “but considering his contributions thus far, it only makes sense if Theron continues to be the SIS’s liaison in this matter.”

Theron blinked, not expecting that. But it did explain the pay raise. “Thank you, Director.”

“Are you _sure_ he didn’t suffer from any brain damage, Grand Master?”

“Yes,” Satele said, barely keeping her amusement in check.

“I’m right here,” Theron muttered.

“Yes, well,” Marcus said, “I expect to see you ‘right here’ in my office first thing when you get back to Coruscant.”

“I can’t drop by my apartment first?” Theron joked.

“I’ll send someone to water your plants,” Marcus said flatly. “First thing. Don’t make me send an escort this time.”

“Yes _sir_.”

“I’m afraid we have another appointment waiting,” Jace said. “We can debrief further once you’re both back in Republic space.”

“We also have things to attend to here,” Satele said. “Please send my regards to the Chancellor.”

There was the briefest of frustrated looks that passed over Jace’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “See you both soon.”

Their images fizzled into nothingness as the call ended, and Theron glanced over at his mother. Her shoulders were still set back. Taught. Tense. Her expression eased from the pleasant neutral facade into the weariness she was apparently trying to disguise. It was impossible to tell without asking if that was from the previous night’s battle, or due to the meeting itself. It felt a little too personal to ask, especially if it had to do with Jace. Being stuck in the middle between his estranged parents was one of his least favorite places to be.

Still, the silence seemed to hang in the air awkwardly, and she would probably notice if she slunk out without saying anything. So he cleared his throat and cautiously spoke up.

“That was… unexpected.”

A bit of the tension eased, but the weariness hadn’t been chased away as she glanced over at him. “What exactly were you expecting?”

“Honestly?”

“That is usually a good place to speak from.”

He narrowed a brow at her. Typical. “Part of me was trying to figure out how to stow away on Jakarro’s ship before anyone noticed.”

Something flickered across her expression — but he couldn’t tell if it was disappointment, frustration, or something else. “You didn’t think the SIS would take into account everything that you have done?”

“No offense, but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the course of this whole debacle, it’s not to expect too much out of people.”

She rested a hand gently on his shoulder, and it took most of his effort to not shrug it off. He probably deserved some sort of credit for that at least. “I think you say that, but I’m not sure you actually believe it.”

“What do you know?”

“You noticed Jace’s reaction during the call.” Her voice was quiet, but her tone still direct. “You do realize where that was coming from, don’t you?”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific. We kind of covered a lot of ground for as short as that was.”

“Theron…” There was the frustration he’d been expecting. _Now_ this was feeling like a proper mother-son discussion. “He was furious when the order for your arrest was sent out.”

“How do you know that?”

“We _do_ talk some still,” Satele said with a sad smile. “I know you haven’t known him long in the grand scheme of things, but he does care for you a great deal.”

“Yeah. I know…”

Theron shifted uncomfortably, and she apparently took that as a sign and withdrew from his personal space. It was a relief to have the distance, but there was also some conflicting feeling trying to claw its way up at the almost normalcy of that familial closeness. He banished it away, burying it back with the rest of the disappointments of his teenage years. There was just some things it was too late to change. No need to start now.

Even though she had created physical distance, she still seemed determined to catch his eye. “Whether or not he raised you, you are more than just an operative to him.” Why did he get the distinct feeling that she was speaking more than just on Jace’s behalf at the moment? “It can make for some… difficult reading considering what happened on Rishi.”

For as direct as she was attempting to be, she was certainly beating around the bush when it came to actually stating outright what she was talking about. He almost clarified aloud that she was referring to the torture he’d undergone on Revan’s orders just to see the reaction— but that would have been petty. And if he were being honest, more direct than he’d been about it up to this point. It was just one of those things someone in his line of work needed to be prepared for—and by prepared, he meant neatly packed away in a corner of his mind and never to be examined. It was a thing that had happened, and if he arranged his thoughts in _just_ the right way, it was almost like it had happened to someone else.

It was just odd that either Jace or Satele would be affected by that. It wasn’t like it was their fault, they weren’t responsible. He can and did blame a lot of things on them, perhaps sometimes unfairly, but this wasn’t one of them. The only one to blame was the deranged Dark Side remnants of a three hundred year old ancestor—okay, maybe he could pin a little of it on Lana, although he still wasn’t sure how much had been intentional and how much had just been her taking advantage of a situation.

Grey checking in on him, being worried, he could understand _that_. She’d been there, she’d been the one to charge in to try and save him (even if it had been a little late—but he appreciated the effort). But he really wasn’t sure how he should feel about his parents’ concern. It wasn’t really any of their business, and that they were giving it any thought kind of made it feel like the walls of the thin command tent were closing in and he just needed a little air.

He took a few extra steps away, putting more distance between him and his mother. It didn’t really help, in fact it just seemed to make the furrow in her brow deepen. To try and distract from that he made an exaggerated show of shrugging his shoulders. “That was just part of the job.”

She didn’t look convinced, but apparently was not going to call his bluff.

“Regardless,” she said quietly, “I think you already know that you can expect more out of some people. However brief he’s been in the role, your father does want to be one.”

He looked up at her suspiciously. “Anyone else fit that description?”

She pressed her lips together into a tight smile. “There are others who cannot afford to let their emotions show more freely. No matter how much they might want to.”

“Story of my life.”

She wasn’t able to completely suppress her reaction—almost a flinch—but the breath she let out was long and quiet. Probably meant to be a sigh, but she’d retreated from the almost maternal show of affection earlier and was wrapping herself back into her familiar detached Jedi persona. There was a slight twinge, maybe something akin to guilt, but he tried to ignore it. He had difficulty reigning his temper in sometimes, but when this particular subject came up—he didn’t exactly have a track record of thinking. Just lashing out like a wounded animal.

It had been easier when they were on the job, none of this weirdness came up—in public she treated him just as if he were any other Republic agent. Especially with the head of the Dark Council watching her every move. Although maybe it was moot, since Theron was fairly certain that even if Marr hadn’t guessed, Lana had likely already disclosed the familial relationship between him and Satele.

He had a feeling that was probably her next appointment—discussing next steps with Marr. Open communication would be extremely difficult once they all left Yavin, maybe impossible. Both the Republic and Empire were still at war with each other—and neither side was likely going to devote all of their resources into the search for Vitiate.

Satele gathered herself, took in another deep breath, and let it out, before trying again. “What I mean is that it can be a very dangerous thing when a Jedi elevates the need of one person over everyone else.”

“I’ve heard this before,” Theron muttered.

“It is not a subject to be treated lightly.”

“Correction, I’ve heard this _lecture_ before.”

“I am not lecturing you, Theron,” her patience was starting to wear thin, “I am trying to be honest. It is a dangerous path to tread and requires an abundance of _caution_.”

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly one of his strong points. “Are we still talking about you right now?”

“I speak for myself,” she said carefully, “but I am also aware of the close bonds you’ve developed over the course of this ordeal.”

“I wouldn’t say Lana and I are very close at this point,” Theron spat.

“I am not speaking of Lord Beniko, and you know that,” Satele said firmly. “Neither do I wish to intrude on your personal life. Your decisions are your own, I just hope that you think them through carefully.”

He swallowed back his anger, knowing that it would likely be thrown back in his face. The fact that she was being so diplomatic about this was almost as infuriating if she had come out and spoke against his attraction to her favored Knight plainly. As much as part of him wish she’d just spit it out, this had suddenly not just become another spat between them. There were some very specific rules he was treading the line with right now—and he wouldn’t be the one to suffer the consequences of them if things came to light.

“Despite popular opinion, I actually do give quite a bit of thought to everything I do.”

“I am not trying to insinuate otherwise,” she said, “but I am trying to suggest a little caution. Vitiate’s return has given us many things to deal with. Some of us more than others.”

“Yes. I’m _aware_. I’m now officially part of the Republic’s task force on the subject. I was paying attention during the meeting.”

“That is not what I meant.”

He almost demanded her to explain what it was that she _did_ mean, because quite frankly his Satele-to-Basic dictionary was malfunctioning. He snorted out an angry breath, trying to reel in his temper before it flared out of control and got him in more trouble than he was ready to deal with at the moment. “All I’m hearing is that your way is the only one.”

“My way was once your way too.”

“Not really,” he spat. “Bad luck in the genetics lottery.”

There was that look again, a flash of something unreadable. Too quick to identify—frustration? Regret? Sympathy? Whatever it was, she apparently kept it locked away in a box very similar to the one he had tucked away into the corner of his mind.

“You were still raised as one of us,” her tone was a little gentler, with less reproach now, “even if things did not work out as we thought they would.”

Understatement, thy name was Satele.

“The depths of our philosophies are something all Jedi spend a lifetime studying, but never truly mastering.”

“Even the Grand Master?”

“Yes,” she said curtly. “Our forbearers passed down their hard learned lessons to us, even sometimes the subtleties of them may have been lost in their retellings.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“There is nothing inherently wrong about Jedi connecting to others, Theron—the Force is built on everything being connected. But for a Jedi to get too close to someone, it’s much like walking along a cliff. If treated with care and caution, you might not fall—but you still walk the edge. And the longer you do, the more likely you are to slip.”

“So I won’t go take a walk along any cliffs.”

“I am speaking metaphorically,” Satele corrected. “With the power that we wield as a Jedi, attachment is a dangerous path to tread.”

“Maybe a little attachment never hurt anyone,” he spat out. “Have you ever considered that?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I have.”

“I need some air,” he growled and moved towards the edge of the tent.

“Theron—“ He stopped at the edge of the tent, but didn’t look back at her. “Please just think about what I said.”

“Only if you do the same,” he returned, and then quickly made his way out of the tent. There wasn’t much hope for solitude in the crowded camp, but if he was lucky he might be able to find a quiet corner to quiet the angry fire raging inside of him.


	6. Accidental Eavesdropping

The morning’s revelry had faded into the Coalition’s version of normal as the day wore on. The mud from the previous night’s rain dried slowly even as the day heated up into the jungle’s usual swelter. Brilliant hues of pink and blue painted the sky as the sun started to set on the horizon. Despite the setting sun, it was still uncomfortably warm. A bead of sweat rolled down Theron’s neck as he stalked through the camp, trying to find a quiet corner to himself.

He’d thought he’d finally found one on a platform near the edge of the plateau, when muffled voices drifted from around one of the tall crumbling pillars. His annoyance spiked, and he started to turn in the other direction, when the hushed voices raised in volume. One of them he could clearly identify one of the speakers as Kira Carsen.

“I’m just as excited for the return of the life-devouring Sith spirit as _you_ , but you need to back off, Scourge!”

Theron frowned, steps slowing to a halt.

“What everyone needs is to keep an eye on the bigger picture.” The Sith’s deep voice drifted out, tone dripping with disdain. “We don’t have time to wallow in our mistakes, lest they be our last.”

“I think we have a _few_ days before the galaxy’s destruction!” Kira snapped. “A little compassion and understanding never hurt anyone.”

“My experience begs to differ.”

“Well, thats because you’re a _Sith_ ,” she spat. “You’ve probably never felt an ounce of compassion in your life.”

“Yes. It’s been a good existence.”

“Ugh, why do I even bother?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I’m not actually.” Kira’s voice remained firm. Theron could almost imagine her standing toe-to-toe with the tall Sith. “We had all thought we had this chapter closed—”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, good for _you_ ,” she spat. “But some of us aren’t exactly looking forward to facing off with the body-hijacking embodiment of evil again. So stop hassling her and let her deal with this however she needs to.”

Theron’s throat went dry, and it took a few moments for him to be able to swallow as he tried to process those words. Process exactly what that meant. Because he knew exactly who the ‘she’ in that statement was.

Standard training for SIS agents prepared them in case they ever had to face off with a Sith. Taught them techniques to wall off their minds. How to withstand the Dark Side’s intrusive methods used to unravel a psyche and get the information they wanted. And Theron was probably even more versed in the ways of the Force than his peers, but interrogation was one thing. He had recent experience to speak to that. But what Kira was talking about…

A sick feeling settled in his stomach as the snatches of information he’d gleaned, however unintentionally, began to piece together.

A mysterious six month gap in the service record of one of the most prominent Jedi in the Order, a woman who was practically Chancellor Saresh’s go-to girl in a crisis. A file redacted so carefully and thoroughly it was like those six months hadn’t even existed. A lot of shady things happened at the SIS in the name of the Republic, but time generally didn’t go missing. Usually just the entire history of an agent that went so deep undercover they were practically erased in the name of the mission. Most of those agents never came back. But Greyias Highwind _had_ come back from wherever she’d gone. And had immediately taken up the task of stopping the destruction of all life in the galaxy.

Gnost-Dural had spoken of the Jedi having their own version of black ops, and Grey’s service record leading up to that mysterious gap in her timeline spoke to that. The gist of a mission outlined and explained but key details omitted, as if the objective stated in the file was a cover for something else. The Jedi she’d been in contact before the gap were the ones that she later had to hunt down in her bid to stop the emperor. If Vitiate had the ability to take over someone’s mind, to control their actions, it was possible that he had been controlling them. Had twisted them to his bidding. That was a very unpleasant thought. Not exactly something the Order or the Republic would advertise. But it didn’t seem worthy of a cover-up either.

An unfortunate side effect of the war was that it wasn’t a complete rarity for Jedi to turn to the opposite side. It was becoming more and more common for Sith to prey on the younger ranks of the Jedi, snatching Padawans away and twisting them into acolytes and apprentices. Even Darth Kharrid had been a former Jedi, and _she_ had risen to become a member of the Dark Council. But Kharrid and the others weren’t celebrated public figures, they weren’t war heroes who were held up as a symbol of hope and inspiration. To redact a file in such an underhanded way spoke of something very ugly being made to go away.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as the strange puzzle began to piece together in his mind. A black ops team of Jedi sent on a secret mission, many of whom had been turned into pawns in a bid for galactic destruction. A “dangerous Dark Side entity” as Satele had put it, who apparently had the ability to turn others into puppets. His mother’s warning that “some people” had more to deal with in regards to Vitiate’s return, and her strong urging for Theron to proceed with caution when it came to getting too personally entangled with the bright rising star of the Jedi Order.

He didn’t have everything. He still didn’t understand exactly why the discussion on lightsabers had provoked the reaction they did. Or why Satele had so fiercely defended Grey during the meeting only to try and tell Theron to stay away. (Well, other than the head Jedi being stereotypically Jedi.) Nor did he have the exact details of what had happened during the erased six months. But he had enough to put together a hazy picture.

Theron’s anger and frustration from his argument with Satele bled away only to be replaced by something far uglier that bubbled up from deep within his gut. It was almost primal in its fury, blinding in its intensity. He’d promised not to pry, so he couldn’t _ask_ what had happened to her—and that was almost worse. It left too much to the imagination. Of what could cause the bravest person he'd ever met to start shaking like that. To look so lost and broken. The thought that she’d been forced to do something against her will, something that would leave that kind of mark… it made him clench his fists so hard he could almost feel his nails digging into his palm even through the leatheris of his gloves.

“There is no point in talking to you when you’re being this unreasonable.” Scourge’s voice broke through the red haze tinting over Theron’s vision, bringing him back to reality. “Perhaps I can be more useful in helping the evening patrols.”

“Yeah, well,” Kira’s voice raised a few notches, as if she was shouting to a retreating form, “you just better be minding your own damn business during your perimeter checks!”

There was a faint scoff barely heard over the fading crunch of boots on the platform’s stone floor. Theron glanced up in time to see Scourge’s dark cape fluttering in the evening breeze as he retreated back towards the more populated area of camp. The surge of anger slowly began to ebb as something approaching rational thought returned to the spy. Hearing a frustrated groan from the remaining occupant of the platform, Theron slowly moved towards the column obscuring the young Jedi from view.

As he stepped around the large crumbling structure, he was greeted with a fierce glare. “Anyone ever told you it’s not nice to eavesdrop?”

“I’d say old habits die hard,” he said, somehow managing to keep his voice neutral, “but this was accidental.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Prejudice against my profession?” Theron shrugged, finding a smaller piece of the old structure to lean against as his blood pressure began to return to normal.

The red brow arched in his direction was more than a little skeptical. “Is it prejudice, or just practicing sound judgement?”

“I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kira muttered darkly. “Maybe not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kira crossed her arms, the arched brow climbing higher as if he’d just asked if water was wet. “Still trying to figure out your intentions. Here and elsewhere.”

“Am I about to get another lecture on the big bad spy leading the innocent little Jedi to temptation?”

“Lectures aren’t my specialty,” she said lightly. “I prefer to solve things with a lightsaber first.”

“I’m having a hard time seeing your boss approving of that attitude when you were her Padawan.”

“Think you know her so well, huh?” A hint of mischievousness broke through Kira’s disgruntled facade. “Besides, my apprenticeship under her was fairly short.”

“Yet you’re still around.”

“Some people are worth sticking around for,” she said seriously. “Don’t you think?”

“This certainly _sounds_ like you’re leading into giving me an earful.”

“You two making goo-goo eyes at each other is none of my business,” Kira said firmly.

Theron huffed out an annoyed breath. He did _not_ make goo-goo eyes. “You’d be the first to think so.”

“Been talking to Doc, huh?”

“And Scourge.” Theron decided to not mention the Grand Master’s opinion on the matter. “I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but there’s a part of me that wants to file a restraining order against him on her behalf.”

“Yeah, he’s… special.”

“I heard.” Theron couldn’t help but frown, and crossed his arms to keep himself still.

“We’re used to dealing with him,” Kira said, “it’s nothing you need to worry about. She can take care of herself.”

“That’s never been in question,” Theron assured the young woman. “I’ve never met anyone more capable than your boss. She’s sure something.”

“Yeah, she has that effect on people,” Kira mused.

“She got a member of the Dark Council to back down without once reaching for her lightsaber,” he pointed out. “You have to admit that’s not something you see every day.”

“Eh.” Kira shrugged, as if seeing a Jedi calmly talk a murderous Sith into reason was nothing new. Then again, as he recalled some of the details of the two Jedi partners’ career, perhaps it wasn’t that unusual for the crew of _the Defender_.

“Okay, maybe just for some of us,” Theron amended.

“It’s all right.” There came that mischievous grin again, as if Kira was in on some sort of joke that he didn’t know the punchline to. “As I said, she’s got that effect on people.”

“Is that so?” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed. “But you _are_ the first to get an actual reaction back… except for maybe Lana.”

“Let’s not talk about Lana,” Theron muttered darkly.

“Doc was right,” Kira said, not bothering to suppress her amusement, “you _are_ jealous! I didn’t believe him.”

“I am _not_!” he snapped.

“Look, as I said before, it’s not my business,” she smiled gently, “but you really shouldn’t worry about Lana. I’m pretty sure that ship sailed on Rishi. I’m not sure it ever got out of the spaceport to begin with.”

Theron gave her a look, but just recrossed his arms. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Probably because you’ve been too busy puffing your chest out like an Orobird about to charge.” Kira shook her head. “Lana’s intriguing for a Sith, but… that’s a lot of baggage on its own without the trust issues thrown in.”

“Well _I_ don’t plan on trusting her any time soon.”

“You think you’re the only one? Geez, you’re thick! How have you lived this long?”

“My good looks, great reflexes, and dumb luck.”

“And clearly humility as well.” Kira snorted. “But seriously, the moment Grey found out you were captured there was only one thing on her mind, and it _wasn’t_ Lana.”

It hadn't escaped his notice that she had come for him. Had stormed the entire base and threatened to burn it to the ground. It wasn’t something he could easily forget. They hadn’t exactly talked about it, not in so many words. But he’d assumed that part of the reason had been to get the intel on the Revanite’s plans. That she’d gone there for just him? He wasn’t sure how to process that, how to deal with the surge of emotion coursing through him. The insinuation that Lana hadn’t only fractured her trust with Theron, but with the little blonde Jedi as well didn’t escape his notice. It just added another confusing swirl into the mix, because of how friendly they’d been this morning. Maybe Grey was just better at practicing that infamous Jedi forgiveness and letting go of grudges than him. Or maybe she was trying to keep the peace.

He swallowed past the emotion, trying to find his voice again. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Well, of course _not_.” Kira rolled her eyes. “You were probably too busy being tortured at the time to pay attention to little details like that.”

The mention of his fun time at the Revanite camp and Revan’s forceful mind probes made him wince. “Are you always this blunt?”

“It’s part of my charm,” she said sarcastically. “You stick around long enough you’ll come to love it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she said confidently. “So just cool your jealous jets, okay?”

Theron considered trying to argue his case further, that his feelings on Lana were coming from a place of concern. That getting too close, trusting her too much would just wind up getting everyone hurt or worse. But as Kira stared at him, eyes squinting and brows narrowed, he realized that was probably a losing battle. So he relented with a sigh.

“I’ll _try_.”

“There’s an old Jedi saying: do or do not, there is no tr—“

“I’m familiar with it.” He interrupted sharply, having had his fill of colloquialisms and ‘wisdom’ this afternoon. “I’m just not big on Jedi philosophy.”

“I pick and choose myself on what to follow,” Kira said lightly, but he detected an undercurrent of warning to her tone, “but I’ve never been very big on tradition.”

“And your partner?”

“A bit more of a stickler on some things,” she admitted seriously.

“Some things?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly had a deep _talk_ about this. I had always figured she was a traditionalist when it came to, well… y’know.”

“‘Y’know’?” he echoed with a raised eyebrow.

Kira narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play coy with me, Spyboy, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I might just be desperately trying to change the subject.”

“Well, you’ll have to try harder.” Kira nodded affirmatively. “When I want to talk about something, you might as well listen.”

“Why does _everyone_ want to talk about this?” Theron cradled his forehead with one hand.

“Maybe we’re just bored.”

“I can suggest some _other_ hobbies,” he said desperately. “You could take up synthweaving for example.”

“Already do. This is more entertaining.”

“I thought the Jedi didn’t believe in torture.”

“This is a conversation, not torture!”

“I beg to differ.” Theron began to knead his forehead in earnest. “You know, using a blaster is faster _and_ less painful.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” he could hear the grin in her voice. “You ready to give in and listen?”

“No,” he said weakly, “but if I run away you’re just going to chase me and shout out whatever it is, aren’t you?”

“See, we’re already getting to know each other so well. We’re going to be the best of friends, Theron, I can tell.”

He groaned and waved his hand at her expansively. “Just… get this over with.”

“As I was saying,” she said, “the boss is a little more… traditional than I think you’re used to.”

“Excuse _me_?” He might have sound like he was strangling a little on the words.

“Oh, come on,” she said, ignoring his distress, “I’ve seen your type before. Adrenaline junkie, likes everything to come at you hard and fast. And I do mean _everything_.”

This time he did choke.

“I’m not judging,” she continued on blithely. “I’m just saying, some people have to take things slower, so slowly in fact you might think it’s faster watching glaciers melt while—“

“How the hell do you even _know_ all this?” he squeaked.

“I wasn’t always a Jedi, you know.” Kira crossed her arms. “You learn a lot on the streets of Nar Shadaa.”

“I really don’t want to hear about that either—“

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t _argue_ with me. I’m not wrong, am I?”

She wasn’t, but that really wasn’t any of her business. There were more effective ways of unwinding after particularly difficult missions than others. And if he tended to have a preference for the sweatier, messier, and more pleasurable activities, well, that was between Theron and whoever he chose the company of for the evening. But apparently Kira was not unlike an akk dog that had latched onto its prey, not willing to let go once she got her jaws around something. Which was a _bad_ metaphor considering the subject at hand.

“If not synthweaving, then what about artificing?” It might have been unbecoming for him to sound quite so pitiful, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “You can make some really nice lightsaber hilts. I bet they’d sell for a lot on the Galactic Trade Network.”

“Yes, but then I couldn’t see you desperately trying to crawl out of your own skin.”

“Kira,” Theron somehow managed to hold onto a small shred of dignity and didn’t choke on the next few words, “ _why_ are you bringing this up?”

“I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“You guys are acting like I’m asking to _marry_ her.”

“Are you?”

“ _No_ ,” he said desperately. “Right now I’m considering my chances with that conveniently placed cliff at the edge of the platform.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Kira said, “then I’d have to explain this whole thing to her. And _that_ would be awkward, let me tell you.”

“ _That_ would be the awkward part?”

“Well, at least for me.”

“Did you have a point?” Theron asked weakly. “Or are you just secretly a sadist?”

“Well, it _is_ fun watching you squirm…”

“Kira,” he said warningly.

“ _Fine_. You just seem like a one-night-stand kind of guy,” she said, all playfulness in her tone gone, “and despite whatever the Code says about attachment… she’s not.”

“I _get_ that,” he said, thankful that it was finally over… he hoped. “I can have more than one type, can’t I?”

“I don’t know you _that_ well.”

“Next time I talk to your boss, I’m suggesting she go over the topic of boundaries with you.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Are you done now? Or do I need to make a running start for the edge of the plateau?”

“Fine, you big baby, we’re _done_.”

His audible sigh of relief may have been a touch on the dramatic side, but Theron didn’t care. “I don’t care what anyone says, _you’re_ the scary one, not Scourge.”

“I like to lure them in with the innocent act,” she grinned. “It works every time.”

Theron pushed away from his perch on the small crumbled column. “Well, this has been _fun,_ but—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, who said you could go?”

“ _You._ When you said we were done.” If it sounded like he was going to cry, well, who would exactly blame him? “Why do you keep lying to me?”

“We’re done with the fun part—“

“That was _fun_?”

“You’re kind of hilarious when you’re out of your element. Anyway, we still need to talk about what you eavesdropped on.”

“I already apologized for that,” he said, all humor draining away. “Let’s not bring it up again.”

“Look, I don’t know how much you know…”

“Not as much as you think,” he ground out, “but enough to get a decent picture.”

“A decent picture? I don’t know if you _really_ —”

“No, I don’t,” he interrupted, “and I’m not trying to right now. You can torture me with all the dirty little Nar Shadaa sex stories you want, but I promised her I wasn’t going to pry. If she wants to talk about what happened, she _will_ , but until she does I’m going to respect her privacy. This is _not_ something I’m going around her on.”

“Damn,” Kira breathed, “you really do have more than one type.”

“What?” he snapped.

“Never mind,” she waved her hand quickly, “I just… wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. And we are.”

“We are?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry for giving you the third degree.”

“Are you really?”

“Okay, I’m _half_ -sorry,” she amended, “but I had to be sure. She’s my best friend, and you don’t really get a lot of those in my line of work.”

“Mine neither,” he admitted quietly.

“Well, I’m willing to share,” she said, brightening up. “But only because I almost got a toothache from watching her fall asleep on your shoulder last night.”

Theron rolled his eyes up to the sky. “I’m not going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Nope!” Kira chirped. “You’re stuck with me.”

“What did I get myself into?” he groaned.


	7. The Quenchless Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally reached it, the Jakarro Sutra. I am so very sorry.

The crackle of the campfire provided a counterpoint to the distant buzz and chirp of the jungle nightlife. A soft murmur of conversation had gone up around camp as the coalition settled into what was likely the last evening meal before they all went their separate ways. The mood was decidedly less celebratory than earlier in the day, likely due to the fact that those they were breaking bread with today they might be exchanging blaster fire with the next time they met.

The Coalition’s two leaders were taking their evening meal over at the operations center, in clear view of the whole camp. A token contingency of troopers from both factions ringed the platforms, but Satele and Marr were seated close enough so they could talk in relative privacy. Making a show of solidarity for the troops, but probably discussing the difficult road that would lie ahead, both politically and otherwise.

Lana was not gathered around this campfire, but instead Theron had spotted her in a tent with several people that he could tell had once been with Imperial Intelligence. It had piqued his interest, but he hadn’t thought of an easy way to listen in without being caught and risking fracturing the Coalition’s trust. So he’d grudgingly marched on, and had wound up taking a seat next to Jakarro in the large group that had gathered together.

If nothing else, it was a clear indication that the intelligence community within the Empire would be experiencing a resurgence in the wake of the Revanite Crisis. They were going to need to get someone on the inside, which would be easier if the structure was being rebuilt from the ground up. Just another thing for Theron to add to the laundry list of discussion items with Marcus when he got back to Coruscant.

Apparently the somber mood of their gathering was too much for Doc, who had started to tell a ribald tale of some daring heist he’d pulled off with a lady Rattataki of a dubious nature. Something about the Rattataki’s description was familiar, but Theron really wasn’t in the mood to listen closely enough to whatever yarn was being spun to try and pinpoint exactly what. He pushed the rations around on his plate, trying to work up the will to force more of it down. He couldn’t tell if the fact that it had little to no taste was a good or a bad thing, and eventually he set it down having only consumed maybe half of it.

“No wonder you’re so puny, Theron,” Jakarro rumbled next to him in Shyriiwook, “if you don’t even finish these measly rations.”

“Some of us just have more refined palates.”

“A Wookiee never leaves a plate unfinished.”

“If you’re still hungry help yourself.” He waved a hand at the half-finished plate. “I’ve had all I can stomach.”

Jakarro immediately scooped up the plate and began to shove large forkfuls in his mouth. Theron shook his head, but wasn’t surprised at this point. The large Wookie had a stomach of steel, and the only thing the spy had seen match his appetite was his capacity to put away drinks. He pitied the next person stupid enough to engage the smuggler in a drinking contest.

Meal finished, Theron let his gaze wander the camp and take in everyone gathered here near the mess. Doc was apparently getting to the particularly racy part of his tale if the raucous laughter indicated anything. He thought he spotted Rusk in the crowd, glaring at his crewmate with clear disdain for the improper decorum. Kira had settled in on the other side of Jakarro, and had struck up a conversation with a private about the same time Doc had decided to break the ice. She’d probably heard this story a few times before, if her exasperated eye roll was any indication. A smattering of both Imperial and Republic forces ringed the campfire, but the remaining three members of _The Defender_ ’s crew were absent, including its commander.

He pursed his lips, and tried to decide if he should stick around. He probably should have tried to tackle the mountain of paperwork still waiting for him, courtesy of his reinstatement. His eyes crossed at the mere thought of having to fill in the same information on the fifteen different forms just from the SIS alone. He was looking forward to getting back home, but he was pretty sure he was never going to miss the Republic’s endless bureaucracy and mind numbing busywork.

It was a long enough flight back to Coruscant, the forms could wait another day.

“Kira,” Jakarro growled, “your medic friend is far too boastful. He could use some humility.”

“Really?” Theron asked dubiously. “You’re going to tell someone else that?”

“The Mighty Jakarro only speak the truth!“

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Kira snickered, “he’s had a very trying day.”

“I’ve had a _long_ day,” Theron corrected, “and a very _loud_ day.”

“He’s probably just frustrated,” Jakarro said sagely, although those not versed in the Wookie tongue would have just thought the tone was more of a guttural sigh. “He and my little friend have had no time alone together.”

“I don’t need to spend _any_ time alone with Deefour, thank you very much.”

“Theron, I do not believe my master was referring to me,” the droid corrected oh-so-helpfully, “I believe he was talking about Jedi Master—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Theron cut him off quickly before the droid shouted her name loud enough for the whole camp to hear. Kira burst into laughter, and he speared all three of them with a glare. “Okay, did you guys have a meeting or something about this when I wasn’t looking?”

“Why would we need a meeting?” Jakarro asked. “This is obviously a private matter.”

“Well, thank you, you’re the first to—“

“And as a matter between friends—“

“What is your definition of private?”

“—I know just what’s needed.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Fear not my friend!” Jakarro slung an arm around Theron’s shoulders. “The Mighty Jakarro is a master lover and can help you through this difficult time in your life!”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no!” Theron’s wails of agony were drowned out by Kira’s high-pitched giggles. “My life is fine, just _dandy_ in fact, and for the love of the Force please don’t finish whatever you’re about to say!”

Jakarro, ever the good friend, promptly ignored him. “Now, I know that you are much punier than the Mighty Jakarro, and as such, you won’t be able to match my girth, but you can make up for what you lack in size with stamina!”

Theron could feel his soul trying to leave his body, but unfortunately he stayed tethered to his mortal coil. At the other half of the campfire, the epic tale of Doc and his Rattataki sidekick was still going strong and had the others so enraptured they didn’t notice the spy’s futile attempts to escape his plight. Jakarro still had him trapped in a giant, sweaty Wookie hug, that effectively prevented Theron from digging a hole to the other side of Yavin and avoiding hearing in graphic detail about the more risqué versions of Kashyyyk mating rituals. He’d never known there were so many inventive and lewd uses for trees. Or Kthysh for that matter. And how was that last one Jakarro describing even anatomically _possible_? And why could Theron not stop picturing it?

“Why are you laughing?” he demanded of Kira. “You’re a Jedi, _save me_.”

She managed to halt her honking laughter long enough to lay a hand on the Wookiee’s shoulder. “Thank you, Jakarro, that was enlightening. I never knew your people were so… _creative_.”

“They’re not! I invented half of the techniques I just described,” he clarified, finally releasing Theron so he could cross his arms in triumph.

“Of course,” Kira said.

“Theron,” Deefour chimed in, “I think I see Master Highwind and Lord Scourge over near the guard station. As you're a beginner and there's a lack of sturdy trees around, might I suggest you try The Mighty Jakarro Technique #4, the Motesta Driller—“

“Deefour,” Kira said the droid’s name almost a little too loudly, “you never did finish telling mehow Queen Lina of Onderon handled the negotiation of the Duke’s release after he was captured by the saboteurs.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful story!” Deefour exclaimed.

Jakarro’s eyebrows drew together in an exaggerated expression of pain, and Theron couldn’t help but also flash Kira a look of pure betrayal as well. She returned his look with a significant head tilt to the guard station that had been mentioned. He flicked a quick glance to see the silhouette of Scourge towering over the smaller Jedi Master, and pressed his lips together in a fine line. He gave Kira a quick nod of thanks before he silently slipped away from the campfire.

He wove a slightly circuitous path, taking a few extra moments to reach his quarry. As a whole, not a lot of people were fluent enough in Shyriiwook that anyone listening in had probably even understood half of what Jakarro had said (the lucky bastards), but he decided not to make his destination too obvious just as a matter of precaution. He didn’t really have a set plan in mind of what he was going to do when he got there, like most of his ideas he was more or less just winging it.

“I grow weary with this pointless self-pity you’ve been indulging in,” the Sith growled. “If you continue to wallow in your Jedi failings and tarry here, at this rate the galaxy will be consumed of all life before we even get off this miserable planet.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. I think even incorporeal beings have to account for travel time. We can take a moment or two to recover.”

“Or wallow as the case may be.”

“As always, Scourge,” Grey ground out, patience audibly tested, “I will take your warnings under consideration.”

“I wouldn’t,” Theron called out, “then again, I’m just contrary like that.”

“Ah, one of our reasons to tarry.”

“Lord Scourge,” Theron greeted, exuding fake civility.

“Agent Shan,” the Sith returned, tone equally polite but somehow also dripping with menace.

Grey glanced between the two of them, eyebrows raised high. “Well, you two are certainly feeling very formal tonight.”

Scourge ignored her. “What brings you out this evening, Agent?”

“Felt like taking a walk,” Theron tossed back, “seeing as it’s so sweltering here in the jungle.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at the Jedi, clearly directing the next statement at her. “I heard there’s a nice breeze on edge of the plateau at night. Figured it might be worth a look, and help to escape some of the _smothering_ heat for a while.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, corners of her mouth quirking up in the hints of a smile. “I wouldn’t mind getting a bit of air — if you’re not opposed to having a little company.”

“Not at all. I might get bored if I go alone,” he quipped, “but I wouldn’t want to interrupt you two.”

Scourge made a sound of disbelief, and Grey shot him a stern look. Her next statement was definitely directed at the Sith. “You can’t interrupt a conversation that was already finished.”

“Oh, well in that case…” Theron motioned the winding path through camp that led up to the large platform he had visited earlier.

“Seeing as you’re _busy_ ,” Scourge’s voice dripped with disdain, “I’ll head back to the ship and help the droid finish his preflight check. If we’re having visitors this evening, I suppose we should also pick up any clutter.”

She gazed at him placidly. “There’s no clutter on the ship. Seetoo would have a fit if one thing was out of place.”

“Silly me, how could I forget that irritating metal monstrosity?” Scourge muttered as he began to stalk off.

“I would not let him hear you say that,” she warned, “unless you want bland meals for the rest of the month.”

“I wouldn’t know the difference anyway,” Scourge’s snarl was nearly lost to the distance, “seeing as I can’t taste anything.”

“Oh… right.”

She still had a deep set frown in place as she watched her crew mate stride away, although it was unclear if it was due to the Sith’s comments on the protocol droid or the entire conversation in general. If it had anything to do with what Theron had accidentally overheard up on the platform, he really couldn’t fault her for it. However, it was also clear from her conversation with Scourge that she was not in the mood to discuss what was bothering her.

Perhaps the thing a good friend would do in this instance would be to change the subject, try and take her mind off of things. If their positions were reversed, he would have much preferred distraction to talking. And if the end result was that it chased away that brooding expression and brought back the hints of that sunny smile she’d sometime grace him with, then all the better.

“Cheery fellow,” Theron remarked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“He has a different outlook than most on the world.”

It was possible that mastering the understatement was a common Jedi trait, Theron mused to himself as he led the way down the path towards the platform. “And exactly how do you maintain being such an optimist when exposed to that sunny disposition of his day after day?”

“Optimist?”

“Come on,” he said lightly, “I’ve never met someone so willing to look on the bright side of things as you are.”

“I am just me,” she said with hints of a frown. “I don’t try to see anything but as they are.”

“Of course you don’t,” he shook his head with a wry laugh. “There is no try, huh?”

“Heard that one, have you?”

“Ngani Zho may have mentioned it… a lot.”

She cracked a smile. “Somehow I can see that.”

“Hey,” he said lightly, “some of us were a little more precocious as children.”

She arched a brow. “That statement implies you grew out of it.”

He mock glowered at her, exaggerating the expression so she could tell it was meant as a joke, and the hints of a smile blossomed into a quiet huff of laughter. Theron followed it up by lightly jostling her with his elbow, and the huff turned into a snort.

“Theron Shan! It is not polite to elbow others in the ribs.”

“Hm, I think Master Zho might have mentioned that once or twice too.”

“He sounds like a very wise man. You should listen to him.”

“He was,” Theron corrected gently, and her smile fell a little as she realized the implication. “And I probably should have done a little better job at listening.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugged a shoulder lightly. “It’s been a while.”

“Time can heal many things,” she said with a little more understanding than he was prepared for, “but it doesn’t erase it all the hurt.”

“That’s true.” Theron said, scuffing the ground with his boot on the next few steps. “He was a good man. I try to remember that, do what would make him proud. Not sure I always get there.”

“Was he the one that raised you?”

Theron nodded. “I think you two would have gotten along. He wasn’t always the most traditional of Jedi, but he taught me a lot.”

“He did a good job,” she said warmly.

“How do you figure?”

“You helped the Republic from a conspiracy that would have torn it apart,” she said, “regardless of the personal cost. He would have been proud of you for all of this. I’m sure of it.”

He gave her a small smile. “Well, at least one of us is.”

She frowned at that. “You don’t agree?”

“You and I butted heads a lot over the course of all of this,” Theron pointed out, “and I’m pretty sure that were he here, he would have sided with you.”

“We may not see eye to eye on every decision, Theron,” she said softly, “but I don’t doubt that your heart is in the right place.”

“No?”

“Well, you _did_ just save me from at least another ten minutes of lecturing, and I am very grateful for that.”

“I aim to please.”

“I feel like Scourge would not agree with that. He seemed quite _dis_ pleased with your arrival.”

“Have you ever seen the man happy?” he asked dubiously.

“Not in the way most people are, no,” she said, “but there are reasons. He’s very… focused on his goal.”

“I noticed.”

“And he thinks I’m preoccupied.”

“People need to mind their own business,” Theron spat. “Hopefully you told him to take a walk.”

“I have. Several times. It’s been a recurring subject.”

“Sounds like _my_ day,” Theron muttered.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly.

“Has Scourge been bothering you?”

“Scourge? No.” Well, at least not _today_.

“But others have.” She pursed her lips. “About what?”

The many conversations over the course of the day surfaced in his mind. Doc. Satele. Kira. Hell, even Jakarro. The memory of the Wookiee’s vivid, salacious descriptions made Theron wince. “You _don’t_ want to know. Trust me.”

A blond eyebrow arched quizzically. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

“You weren’t there,” he said lightly. “Feel lucky.”

“I would first have to know what you’re talking about to begin with.”

“Let’s just say I know more about Jakarro than I ever wanted to or asked for.”

“Then I will let the subject drop since it’s obviously so painful.” He was pretty sure that was her sarcastic tone.

“Your chivalry is noted.”

“Officially?”

“Unofficially. I decided to leave some of the finer details out of my reports. Professional discretion and all that.”

“I can appreciate the need for some…” she bit her lower lip as if she was trying to hold back a smile, “discretion.”

Theron decided to exercise some at that moment as a rush of heat washed over him. He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep them occupied, and kicked at the weathered pavers at their feet. As they left the main portion of the camp, the thick vegetation thinned as they approached the large landing platform and the crumbling ruins above. The light from the main part of the camp was dim here, and the path was lit with a few lanterns and several glowrods in the weathered torch holders. A few flickers of light from above indicated that the watchtowers posted at the edges of the camp were occupied, but they didn’t do much to illuminate the way.

Grey’s gaze wandered upward, taking in the unobstructed view of the night sky. Wisps of clouds streaked across the darkened sky, illuminated by the twinkling stars just visible around the dark looming red specter of the gas giant of Yavin Prime. The frown lines eased as she traced the visible constellations, and her shoulders relaxed. It almost seemed like a private moment, and Theron felt like he was intruding just by watching, but he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away. Her features looked just a little softer in the starlight, almost ethereal. As he tried to swallow the feeling bubbling up inside of him, she glanced back down at him with the same intensity she had directed to the skies above. Almost as if she were looking at one of her stars that had fallen from its proper place in the night.

It took a extra few moments for his breath to catch back up with him.

“They’re different on every planet, yet somehow still part of the same whole,” she said quietly.

He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice. “Is that so?”

“No matter where we go, they continue to watch us in their ever-changing patterns,” she added, still looking at him with that same starstruck expression. “They’re a bit like the Force in that way. You can use their light to guide you through the night. Or through the black of space.”

“I don’t usually slow down enough to stop and look,” Theron whispered.

“If you have time, you should try, Let the moment breathe into you.” Her face lit up in a bright smile. “It can be very grounding.”

“Says the woman who lives on a spaceship.”

“That’s why I stop to look.”

A few guards were stationed near the landing platform, even though no shuttles were running at this point. They wandered on the edges of the path, and carefully picked their ways up the dark steps leading to the overlook that Theron had found earlier. His eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but he still had to be careful of the pits and cracks so he didn’t fall and embarrass himself.

The fabled breeze greeted them up on the platform, gently teasing its fingers through the Jedi’s ponytail. He resisted his urge to run his own hands through it, and continued to guide the way around the massive stone archway, until their view was nothing but the jungle and temple dotted junglescape below. The bright flickers of flame identified the locations of the Massasai villages, but the temples were dark, only illuminated by the stars and reflected light from the gas giant above.

The wind was a little stronger here, almost enough to break the oppressive swelter of the night. He heaved in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. It almost felt like the first real breath he had taken in a long time.

It was strange. He never had really wanted to make any one moment stretch out, but right now he felt the need to try and etch everything into memory. He didn’t want to forget the coolness of the breeze caressing his face, the twilit landscape stretching below, or the warm presence fitting comfortably at his side.

Theron didn’t know when she had gotten that close, how his arm had draped itself across her shoulders without him consciously thinking about it, or at what point her fingers had reached up to intertwine with those curling around her shoulder. Just as he started to look down to comment, he felt her other hand gently cup his chin and guide it upwards to the night sky.

The soft hair of her ponytail tickled his neck as she leaned into him, her head resting right over his heart. He felt a deep twinge in his chest, like a vibroblade being plunged past his ribcage and straight into the deepest part of him. Her weight pressed into him as he inhaled, and something hard and brittle inside of him broke.

He could have said something, but he was enjoying hearing the distant chirps of the nocturnal Ginx **.** He could have moved, but then he’d have to untangle the fingers barely holding on to his. He could have glanced around to see if there were any observers, but that would mean he would have to look away from the stars.

So instead of doing anything, he just leaned in further, and let the moment breathe into him.


	8. Sentry of the Shadowy Night

* * *

 

As twilight gave way to night, the oppressive humidity eased into a slightly uncomfortable mugginess, but the breeze atop the crumbling platform chased through the open crevices in Theron’s jacket, making him almost cold. It was absolutely wonderful, and he didn’t know why anyone ever came down from this place if this was the alternative to drowning in their own sweat in the main camp. Of course, his reasons for extending his stay up on the high vantage point might have been _more_ than just escaping the uncomfortable jungle swelter. Everyone would be departing Yavin tomorrow and going their separate ways. The moment his head hit the pillow, tomorrow would come, and with it, farewells.

Until then, he had the night.

Theron had no idea what was going on with him. His chest felt light, like it might float away and take the rest of his body with it at any moment. It was almost like being drunk, without having to take shots from any of the flasks traveling around camp. He would have suspected someone had snuck something in the evening meal, except none of it had started until he had gotten up onto the platform. Part of him wanted to run far, _far_ away until this temporary madness passed, and the other part of him just wanted to sweep his companion off her feet and just disappear into her embrace until the stars went cold, any onlookers be damned. Neither of those options made any logical sense, so instead he flopped down at the edge of the platform and let his legs dangle over the precipice. The feeling of nothingness meeting his feet and staring at the several hundred foot drop into the jungle below set his heart pumping and he leaned forward to try and find the bottom.

Apparently that was one step too far, because the action gained a startled shout. “What are you doing?”

He tossed a look back at the fretting Jedi. “Sitting. It’s fun.”

“What if you _fall_?”

He shot her a boyish grin. “Then you’ll catch me.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “With what? The _Force_?”

“I’ll let you figure out the details if it comes to that.”

“You have an awful lot of faith in my abilities to prevent you from doing something stupid.”

“You haven’t let me down yet.”

The sigh she let out was exasperated, but even in the darkness he could make out the corners of her lips twitching as she tried to repress a smile. “Why do you make a habit of being so reckless?”

“Because it’s _fun_.” He pat the open space next to him in invitation. “It’s a nice view. Why don’t you come over here and see?” 

She crossed her arms, canting her hip at an angle. “And what if _I_ fall?”

He met her stubborn irritation with a warm smile. “Then I’ll catch you.”

Grey shuffled forward a few steps, possibly without thinking about it, because she stopped with a sudden jerk and stared at him suspiciously. “And what if we _both_ fall?”

“Well, then,” he leaned back on one palm, craning his neck so he could watch her every reaction in the starlight, “at least we’d be falling together. I’m sure between the two of us we’d figure something out.”

“You are impossible,” she muttered, but slid in next to him. 

Gingerly she extended one leg off the edge, fist curled into what was probably a white knuckled grip under those gloves. He took pity on her, and extended his hand. She eyed it for a moment, before grasping it firmly and flinging the other leg off the edge dramatically. Her nod to him was defiant, even as her fingers formed a vice around his hand.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” he asked.

“It would be nicer with a railing.”

“That’d take out half the fun.” He lightly kicked her foot with his, earning a glare. “You don’t get an adrenaline rush if you know you _can’t_ fall.”

“You don’t get enough of those while on the clock?”

“Do _you_?” he challenged.

In his mind’s eye, Theron could still see her blades twirling in a blur on on Tython. Could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his own veins as she risked her own life again and again with no hesitation. On Manaan. Rakata. Rishi. As innocent and proper an exterior she liked to present to the world, there was something wild and dangerous and irresistible lurking underneath that sweet facade. Someone a lot like himself. Just waiting for the right moment to burst forth.

“A Jedi doesn’t seek—“

He put a finger to her lips to stop the expected tirade, and leaned in a little closer. “I didn’t ask about a Jedi—I asked about you.” 

She frowned, leaning back just enough so his finger slipped down from her lips to rest against her chin. “Do you really think there’s a difference?”

Theron didn’t break her gaze, and just nodded ever so slightly with a soft hum of agreement. There was much more to her than the perfect little Jedi she kept trying to pretend to be. Too many layers and mysteries underneath the surface, and he wanted to peel back each one until she was laid bare before him. In every sense and meaning of the phrase.

Her fingers were still wrapped around his one hand like an anchor, and she let out a small huff as she glanced away. “We were talking about _you_ , not me.”

“If you say so,” he said softly, and slowly leaned back into his own space.

The uncertain expression that flashed across her face was just as confusing as the strange fever that had overtaken him since he’d climbed up onto this platform. If he looked too deeply into any of this he’d probably descend into madness, or whatever the next step was after his current stage of mania. Her fingers loosened their death grip, and he let his hand drop back to the ground. She stared at it, lips pursed together as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

“I don’t always understand you,” she said after a moment. “You say one thing, but do another. Yet I don’t ever get the sense that you’re being dishonest with either.”

“Are you talking about anything in particular, or just in general?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

“I haven’t really felt like I’ve been making much sense either,” he admitted quietly.

“Like dangling off the edge of a two-hundred foot drop for no reason?”

“I told you the reason,” he said lightly, “that it’s fun.”

“You probably find explosions fun too,” she said sourly.

“It depends on how close I am to the explosion.”

“What frightens me is I don’t think you’re joking.”

“As I said,” he sat up, leaning ever so slightly to peek over the edge, pretending to teeter a little just because he was kind of an ass, “a little danger never hurt anyone.”

“And a little _caution_ doesn’t hurt anything either.” Her hand immediately grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back. A thrill shot through him both at the renewed contact and the protective gesture.

“I suppose we could meet somewhere in the middle.” He inched back from the edge a few inches and some of the tension relaxed out of her frame. “If you’d like.”

“Perhaps.” She edged closer to him and the precipice, hand anchored around his arm as she pressed against him. “But I draw the line at explosions.”

“Oh, come on,” his breath puffed across her skin as he leaned in closer, “you love explosions, and you know it.”

He couldn’t see her roll her eyes, but he heard the exasperated breath she let out before her lips brushed chastely against his for the first time since Rishi. Her hand was still clamped down tight on his arm, as if holding on for dear life. He felt her tongue flick between his lips, a delicate tease that he obliged as he deepened the kiss. A wave of heat crashed over him, and if he wasn’t careful he could easily drown. 

It was just a small taste, but enough to light a deep, yearning hunger inside of Theron. Just like on Rishi, it reminded him of the exhilarating jolt coursing through his veins when space diving on Ruuria. Volcano boarding on Mima II. Base jumping off the Bubble Cliffs on Qiaxx. It was just as or even more intoxicating than every thrill he’d ever chased, and he wondered if every inch of her was just as much of a rush as this.

He eventually had to come up for air and broke away, her tiny moan of disappointment doing wonders for his ego. He leaned his forehead against hers, relishing in both the warmth of her skin and the soft tickle of her bangs. A soft tendril of breeze wrapped around them both, and he let his eyes drift shut as he tried to lean into this moment just as he had when they’d been watching the stars above. Wanting to make it last as long as humanly possible.

“I wanted to do that since you first stepped foot on Yavin,” he admitted quietly after several long moments.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, we were a little busy,” he said. “And we weren’t exactly alone.”

“This isn’t exactly a private space,” she pointed out.

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… wanted to do that one more time.”

“Only once?”

He opened his eyes to see hers meeting his. They sparkled with a mischievous glint that he was pretty sure would have earned her quite the lecture back in her Padawan days.

“More than once.” And more than just that, but the five million warnings from all of her nosy crewmates were echoing in his ears, and despite his better judgement, he heeded them. No one could ever accuse him of not listening after this, because damn if he didn’t want to pursue whatever this thing was to the very end. “Way more.”

“How many?” Her eyes crinkled as a bright smile lit up her face.

_More than the number of stars in the sky_ , was the truth, but aloud he said, “I don’t know if you can count that high.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve learned a _lot_ of numbers.” She caught his laugh in another kiss, and when she broke away, her eyes were still glittering. “See, that’s two.”

“And here I just thought you were just a pretty face that knew a thing or two about swinging around a lightsaber.”

“Nope. I’m very talented.”

“At just about everything that I can see.” And because he could, Theron brushed his lips against hers once more.

“And that’s three,” she murmured, “although I’m tempted to not count it.”

“I have to switch things up every now and then, otherwise you’ll get bored.”

“If there’s one thing I haven’t been since I met you, it’s bored.”

“I must be doing something right then.”

“You are.”

She grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him to her, pulling him in for another kiss. She sucked in his bottom lip and ran her tongue over the indentation of his recently healed skin. It had been swollen, split, and sore their first kiss, and her enthusiasm then had been dampened by his injured state. Now she was like an explorer slowly mapping out a new star system, almost as if she was trying to commit everything to memory.

That prompted a too deep thought about the next day’s impending departure, so he surged forward and deepened the kiss—turning it into something so Theron surged forward, deepening the kiss into something so breathless and wild he didn’t have time to think about anything else.

“Has anyone ever told you,” her words were quiet as she broke away, hardly a whisper on the air, “that you can be very distracting?”

“A time or two,” he said quietly. “What am I distracting you from?”

“Everything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head ever so slightly, possibly without even realizing it. “I know what I’m _supposed_ to say…”

“I’ve never been big on rules.” He brushed away the bangs that fell into her face, obscuring the stormy emotion beginning to brew in her eyes. “I find them too constricting.”

“I used to find the rules comforting. Everything in its place, and if you just followed them well enough, everything would turn out okay.”

“Used to?”

Her eyes dropped down to the ground then, expression falling as she shook her head. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

A hard lump settled in Theron’s throat as he looked at the dim expression, making it hard to swallow. All the sparkle and mischief had faded from her eyes, leaving a cold empty expanse as she stared unseeing down at the ground.  Something in his chest tightened and he found himself picking up her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, unsure of what else to do. She blinked, as if summoned back to the here and now from wherever she had gone.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head lightly, as if trying to chase something away. “I think I broke the mood.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, giving her hand another squeeze. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“We were having a good time, I… I let my mind wander.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

“How are you supposed to know?” She laughed, but it was the choked desperate laughter of someone trying to hold on to their control.

“I feel like I should, or at least, not keep doing this to you.”

“It’s not just you. This just keeps happening. With everyone,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be better than this.”

“Do you want me to go?”

She shook her head quickly, giving the hand holding hers a tight, almost bone-breaking squeeze.

“I thought I was done with this. After Rishi… Master Orgus said he healed these scars left by… that should have fixed it. Shouldn’t it?” 

From the quiet desperation in Grey’s voice, he had a feeling the question was more rhetorical than something he could really answer. Not that the jumble of words made a lot of sense to him. Wasn’t… Orgus Din her final master before her knighting? Hadn’t he been killed near the beginning of her career as a Jedi? To Theron’s knowledge she had never even visited Rishi before being lured there by him and Lana. And he hadn’t a clue what scars her former Master was supposed to have healed.

“I thought,” he said carefully, “that he had passed away a long time ago.”

“He… visited me while we were on Rishi.”

 Theron _almost_ asked about how exactly a dead man could just drop in for a chat and quick spiritual healing session, but if their encounters with Revan had taught him anything, it was that the Force was… _weird_. And complicated. And probably something he really didn’t want to think on too deeply because things like this just hurt his brain. Apparently even the boundaries of life and death were just mere technicalities to the Jedi like the one sitting next to him. Except Grey didn’t exactly look like the strong confident Jedi at the moment, more like a lost child looking for her parents. He could tolerate a few minutes of bizarre Force talk, if it helped ease that somehow.

“I’m sorry, I know this is strange.”

“No stranger than a half-zombie, half-ghost ancestor.”

The breath she exhaled was almost a wry laugh, but not quite. “That was a new one for me too.”

“At least we’re forging new territory together, eh?” He gave her hand a brief squeeze.

The corner of her mouth twitched up, nearly into a sad smile. “I suppose so.”

“So, was that the personal business you went to take care of before you headed to Torch’s Island?”

She nodded, giving him a sad smile. “He came to visit me one last time. I think he knew we weren’t going to succeed here on Yavin, and he wanted to try and help me one last time.”

“Masters are like that,” he agreed, his own thoughts briefly centering on Ngani Zho. “They just want what’s best for their Padawans.”

“He still called me that,” her eyes glittered with tears, “even as a ghost I was still his Padawan.”

“So is this whole Force ghost thing… common?” he asked uncertainly. 

She shook her head. “When a Jedi passes, they’re supposed to become one with the Force. Usually they don’t stick around for long conversations.”

“I guess Master Orgus felt the need to make an exception,” Theron said carefully.

“You could say that,” she smiled shakily. “He always did have to do things his own way. Even death.”

He nodded mutely, unsure of what he could say exactly. The only thing that came to mind were questions that he had promised not to ask, and even if it was a stupid promise, he still wanted to keep it. It was so easy to break things, but he wanted to try and keep his word to her intact. The reason why that was important was still vague and distant, but his gut said it was, and Theron always listened to his gut.

“You surprise me,” she said quietly, “you ask questions, but never the big one.”

“I promised you I wasn’t going to pry,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to be someone who breaks promises to you.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to earn that.” He felt her other hand fold over his, enveloping it in a cocoon of gloved warmth. It was at that moment, he realized that he had never actually touched her with his bare fingers, that there had always been some sort of barrier between them. “It’s more than I deserve, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless.”

He didn’t have the proper elocution to properly unpack that statement and address it fully, but he felt the need to try, as inadequate as his own words were. “On Rishi. You came for me.”

Her lost expression softened as she met his eyes, but he was crap at decoding his own emotions, much less those of others. “Of course I did.”

“You didn’t have to.” His chest felt like someone was cleaving it in two, but he didn’t break his gaze, determined to try and at least attempt to finish his poor explanation. “I’m not used to that.”

“I will _never_ leave you behind.”

The statement was uttered quietly, but so fiercely determined there was no doubt that she meant it. He swallowed, that lump still firmly lodged in his throat. The whole faith in others thing wasn’t usually in his repertoire, as it was a lot easier to glide on the default mode of skepticism. Everyone eventually moved on their own way, and logic said that nothing would be different this time. The determined look in her eye said exactly where logic could go, and Theron decided to side with the clear winner in this fight.

“I think I believe you,” he finally said, “which is kind of a first for me.”

“It won’t be the last,” she promised, wrapping her fingers around his tightly. “So get used to it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quietly, prompting a tiny sad smile.

“I wish I could be a brighter, stronger person for you. For everyone really, but you… make me want to be _more_.”

“I’m good with the person sitting with me right now,” he said. “You don’t need to be anything more than that.”

“You don’t need a fearless monster slayer? Someone who can look into the void and laugh?”

He shook his head. “That person doesn’t sound very fun.”

“She could be, if I tried.” Grey glanced down. “Maybe if I tried harder, I’d get there. And then hearing his voice again last night after all these years… it would have been fine.”

Theron pursed his lips together, feeling that hole in his chest starting to open up again. Here was the person in the rain last night, trying desperately to hide under armored plating and lightsabers. Not wanting to scare her off back under the thin Jedi veneer, he just ran his thumb along one of the elaborate pieces of metalwork on her glove, wishing that he could feel every groove in it directly instead of through the leather of his own gloves.

“You can ask,” she said brokenly, “if you want.”

Of _course_ he wanted to — but this wasn’t about him. Not really. He just wanted to do the right thing here. Whatever that was. 

When he finally looked up, he saw the unshed tears in her eyes, and felt that small, infinitesimal hole in his chest begin to widen into a gaping wound. “Do _you_ want me to ask?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to feel this way any more.”

“How do you feel?” he asked instead.

“Lost.” She bit her lip, looking away. “Like I’m back there again, even though I’m here. Like if I sleep too deeply, I won’t wake up as me.”

The nausea Theron had felt earlier after overhearing Scourge and Kira bubbled back up, filling the gaping hole with bile and a white, hot bubbling rage.

“I can’t wake up like that again,” she said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear. “Watching myself from afar, my body not my own. Screaming so loud but still unable to stop my hand. Have you ever been trapped in your own mind?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, trying to push the urge to vomit far back down. “I can’t even imagine… it sounds terrible.”

“I was so naive. I believed that anyone could be redeemed. Even _him_.”

There was such venom spat out in that single word, it only could have been reserved for something as unnatural as the ancient being that had been awakened the night before.

“I thought that there was always some small speck of light that could be brought out from even the darkest corner. I just had to trust in the Force, and it would guide me as it always does. It guided me… into darkness.” She swallowed, throat bobbing with the motion as she stared out at the shadowed landscape beyond. Almost as if she was expecting Vitiate to materialize from the darkness. “Just following the rules doesn’t work when someone ignores that they ever existed. It can’t protect anyone from that kind of evil.”

Theron thought of the fallen Jedi that she had chased after the six month gap in her file, and the dark ops leading up to that gap. Had they… stormed the Emperor’s Fortress, determined to capture him and bring him back to the light? How the hell did the Council think that would ever work? Capturing a supposedly immortal dark being and just _force_ him to accept everything good and pure? That hot bubbling rage threatened to take him over.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He barely suppressed a curse. Sending a Knight, just barely two years into her career, to face down the almost literal embodiment of the Dark Side was just too much. Even with an entire team of dark ops Jedi. Even if they had sent her with the entire damn Republic army at her back it was too much. It would have been too much to ask even a wise and experienced Jedi Master like Ngani Zho and Orgus Din had been.

“They should never have asked you to do that.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “I volunteered.”

_Of course_ she did. The moment he had brought his suspicions up with her regarding Darok, she had jumped on the chance to help him out. It was like she was incapable of just standing by if something bad was happening and had to try and fix it herself. That wasn’t the trait of a dedicated Jedi — it was the trait of someone with way too much to prove. He would know.

“I was never supposed to have innocent blood on my hands,” she whispered, “my lightsabers were never meant to be used for murder. No matter how much I wanted to stop, my hands wouldn’t listen to me. All I could hear was his laughter, his voice, telling me to give in. That he would make it all go away if I just gave over that last piece to him. Do you know what I did?”

Theron shook his head mutely.

“I hid. In the deepest corner of my mind, I hid. From him. From what he was making me do. I hid from everything. I was a coward.”

Theron wanted to pull her to him, tell her that she wasn’t, but he felt rooted to the spot. Somehow in defeating the demon from his past, they’d awakened hers. Pulling her back into what sounded like a living, waking nightmare. All he could do was squeeze his fingers around hers.

“In the end, I couldn’t even save myself.” Her voice was quiet, defeated. “Master Orgus’s spirit came from the Force and he found me, he was the one who broke the Emperor’s control over me. Everyone acts like I did something heroic and should be celebrated for breaking his control, when it was never even me to begin with.”

Here was the real truth, the real person he’d been seeking out that hid under that mask of the prefect Jedi. In her own way, the brave hero that everyone kept pinning their hopes on was just as broken as him. Struggling to live up to impossible standards and expectations. And just as lost and flawed and alone. 

It took Theron a little while to find his voice, and when he spoke, it was rougher than he would have liked. “You still faced him down later, after all that?”

“Someone had to,” she said quietly, “and they all believed that I could. He was going to consume _everything_ , all life. He was going to consume _the Force_. It was crying out. And even if it had abandoned me, I… couldn’t abandon it. Or everyone else. I couldn’t wait for the end to come without doing something. And no one else thought they could do it.”

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out softly.

She shook her head, like the fact that charging in to the demon’s lair was nothing noteworthy. Not too mention that she had done so after the kind of violation she’d been subjected to, and risked it happening _again_ without any assurance. That would have been nearly impossible for anyone, and Theron had his doubts he would have been able to do it, even with literally the lives of every living thing in the galaxy on the line.

“When I was a child,” she said quietly, “I would pick up sticks in the forest and pretend they were my lightsabers. I only ever dreamed of being a Jedi, ever since my mother told me about her days as a Knight. I just wanted to be like her.”

That hadn’t been in her file. Actually, there hadn’t been much in it other than basic liner notes prior to her arrival on Tython. But she’d had a family once it seemed—and apparently a mother that she loved very much. There was a distant twang of jealousy, but it was swiftly carried away as he saw the wet tracks streaking down her face.

“I think she would be proud,” he said.

“She’s never visited me,” the confession came out broken, “not like Master Orgus. I wonder if… she wished I could have been stronger. More like her. She never had to throw away a bloodstained lightsaber. After Vitiate made me…” Her voice cracked and she had to swallow back the emotion that nearly dragged her under. “After I escaped, all I could see on mine was the blood, no matter how much I cleaned them.”

He knew absolutely nothing about Force ghosts or the woman in question, but from the reverent way Grey spoke of her, she had left quite an impression on her daughter. He wondered if that heavy, duty-filled legacy was one that had ever been truly intended to be passed on. He was far from an expert when it came to maternal figures and their intentions, but something in his gut told him that was probably not the case. 

“Master Satele, I think she knew,” Grey continued, filling in the silence, “when she gave me the new hilts. She told me that a Jedi needed to have faith in the weapons she wielded, faith in the Force. She helped me construct the new blades before I left Tython.”

Theron let his gaze drop, eyes tracing the path he was making as he marked each divot and design in the gauntlets on her gloves. For everything he still held against his mother, apparently he still had a few things to learn about her. Satele had reached out to a scared, vulnerable Knight, and helped her find confidence again instead of delivering any sort of platitude or lecture. He thought back to their argument earlier that day, trying to fit this new piece of the puzzle into his previous assumptions. It didn’t quite match up, like the sharp edges of his preconceptions needed to be shaved down.

“I made a vow that I would never let these be turned to serve darkness. I couldn’t let something of Master Satele’s become tainted like I had let mine.” Grey’s free hand traced some of the patterns in the hilts clipped to her belt. “I let her keep my old ones. She promised she’d make sure they were never used like that again.”

“I didn’t know about that, earlier,” he said, struggling to swallow past that ever present lump. “I would never have even mentioned it…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She finally looked up from her lightsabers, pulling his gaze up from the patterns he was tracing as well. “You’ve done me no harm.”

Seeing her trying to console him, with the wet tracks still glistening on her cheeks was too much for him to take. Heedless of whoever might be able to see, he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her against his chest as if that could somehow fix anything. Her arms stilled for a moment as if this was something that hadn’t ever occurred before and she had no idea what to do, before suddenly curling around him, fingers digging deep trenches into the leather of his jacket like drowning victim clutching to a lifeline.

“Master Orgus said he couldn’t come back anymore.” Her face was buried in his jacket, voice muffled by the leather. “He was the only thing that brought me back last time. I… I can’t be trapped like that again. I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Theron murmured, tightening his arms around her small shivering frame. “He’s left. He’s not here.”

“No one’s saying anything, but they’re all terrified. Even Scourge. I didn’t finish the job last time, and now he’s back.” The shivering intensified to an actual tremble, and it felt like someone was shoving a vibroblade right through Theron’s chest. “I have to kill him, but he’s already dead. But he’s not alive either.”

 The enormity of the task that had been assigned to her, by fate, or the Force, or whatever seemed to loom just off into the shadows of the night. The blame for Vitiate’s return at this moment in time, if not the assault and chaos on the Republic all the way three hundred years ago, lay squarely at Revan’s feet. It was the baggage of Theron’s own family, not hers. In a way, the responsibility for all of this _should_ have laid at his feet. Perhaps if fate had twisted differently—if their places had been switched and he’d been born with all the powers of the Force that she wielded—it would have. Would he have been able to break away like her, or would he have wound up as twisted and broken as the rest of the members of her strike team?

Because Revan, for all his power and gifts in the Force, had cracked under the constant torture he’d been subjected to over the course of three hundred years. His psyche torn in two; one half twisted into something dark, monstrous, and almost unrecognizable from the Jedi he’d once been. Someone willing to commit mass genocide. Willing to upend everything if it meant he could get revenge against the one who had taken everything from him. Even Revan’s attempts to connect with what remained of his family had been tainted into something sick and twisted.

Theron couldn’t help but wonder if those same weaknesses ran through his blood in the way that the Force never had. It probably would never not sting, not grate on him a little when the Force peeked its head around to meddle in his life after the way it had abandoned him when he was young — but as he looked at the connections he shared with Grey, it was hard to completely deny that maybe it had somehow set something in motion. 

Maybe they were both just meant to finish what Revan had started nearly three hundred years ago. Or maybe it was even more than that.

He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with any of this, Force-blind Jedi washout that he was. The task that lay before her was beyond his capabilities, but if they failed at stopping Vitiate, nothing would ultimately matter anyway. Even if Theron hadn’t been assigned as the task force’s liaison for the SIS, he would have busted down Marcus Trant’s door and camped out in his office until he’d gotten it. Whatever had happened prior to now was out of his hands, he couldn’t change any of their yesterdays, no matter how much he wanted to at the moment. But tomorrow wasn’t set yet, and he could still do something about _that_.

She had answered every one of his calls, even when he made her go through ridiculous lengths to find out it was him. The woman had stormed an entire fortress just for him. She was more than just his partner on this one job, she was his _friend_. Possibly the best one he had ever had. Maybe if he was really careful, did enough research, and did _his_ job well enough, she’d never have to hear the voice of her tormentor ever again.

“What if I fall?” she asked brokenly, clinging to him tightly as they teetered on the edge of the platform with nothing but the inky night below.

“You won’t.” He tightened his grip around her quaking shoulders, as if he could shield her from the night. “You’re not going to fall.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to catch you.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head, before glaring off into the night as if in challenge to the darkness just beyond them.


	9. Of Contraband and Confidantes

Theron blinked his eyes a few times, trying to will himself back into a state of wakefulness. Sleep had eluded him after he’d returned to his tent sometime in the early pre-dawn hours. A combination of his brain refusing to shut off and the torrent of emotions raging through him after what had come out on the platform. He couldn’t swallow his anger completely, so he set it to the back of his mind, letting it simmer as he tried to slowly formulate some way to keep the promise he’d made. He just needed to come up with a plan—some way to contain the monster that Revan had let loose and keep him from doing any more damage. On the galaxy, and on one particular person within it.

Eventually he gave up on actual sleep, and had wound up attempting meditation. It wasn’t a good substitute even on days when he _could_ enter a proper meditative state, but it had at least managed to help him reorder everything in his mind so he wasn’t a raw bundle of emotions. They had their debrief with the Supreme Chancellor this morning, and while the Grand Master was going to be leading the call, Theron wanted to make sure he was on top of his game.

Saresh might have many of her constituency fooled, but Theron knew that woman was a shark — an apex predator that wouldn’t hesitate to strike if she sensed an opening she could use. She famously had no love for the Empire, and considering who Theron had been working with for nearly the past year, he needed to make sure he didn’t present any reason for her to pounce on him.

Soft footfalls caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a certain tow-headed Jedi approaching with a large thermos in hand. The fond smile he gave her was almost a reflex reaction, and he would have cursed himself for having such an obvious and automatic tell—but his brain chose that moment to short out as she beamed at him in return.

He tried to cover that reaction as smoothly as he knew how, which was by ignoring it entirely. “Are you smuggling things into the meeting?”

“I do not smuggle,” she said primly, setting the thermos on the table and pulling out two mugs that didn’t look like the standard issue Republic crockery. “I leave any contraband acquisition in Jakarro’s capable hands.”

“Then what’s that?”

“The most important meal of the day.” She glanced at him with a coy smile. “I thought you might be in need of some caffeine this morning.”

“You _do_ have contraband,” he teased. “I couldn’t find any this morning. Apparently it’s already been packed up.”

“Well, since I happen to like you, I brought some from my personal stash.” She poured him a liberal mug and handed it over.

“While I’m touched,” he said lightly, gratefully accepting the offered mug, “you bringing me a drink just keeps adding to my tab.”

She shook her head and poured a mug for herself. “I didn’t realize you were keeping a tally.”

“It’s a very complex system of checks and balances.” He took a tiny sip of the hot liquid, savoring the bitter flavor. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a spy thing.”

“It’s _caffa_.”

“It’s a drink, it still counts. At this rate, I’ll have to buy you a drink a week to get back into the black.”

“Hmm,” she hummed softly, unsuccessfully hiding a tiny smile behind the rim of the mug, “every week you say?”

“Yep.”

“I might have to invest in more caffa in that case.”

“Well, I _do_ have a busy schedule,” his voice dropped a few octaves as that smile nearly undid him, “but I can see what I can fit in.”

“Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you then?”

“Yeah,” he wrapped his free hand around the mug to occupy it, acutely aware of the potential eyes watching their encounter, “you can bet on that.”

“I don’t normally like to gamble,” she said, “but I’m finding myself making exceptions to my normal rules lately.”

“Sounds like someone’s a bad influence on you.”

“That depends on what you define as bad.”

Right now he would define it as an overly flirty Jedi casually sipping on a cup of caf, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and effectively shorting out his higher brain functions. Theron was really trying to ignore the evil voice whispering in his ear, asking if she would taste like the caffa if he kissed her right now.

He successfully squashed the urge to find that out by taking a sip from his own mug instead. It was not the same.

“What dictionary are _you_ using?”

“Would you believe I’m writing my own?”

“I’d ask how you’d find the time for that between saving the galaxy every other week,” he retorted as he leaned against the conference table, “and then ask for a copy. For future reference of course.”

“Is that reference out of professional curiosity?” She settled in next to him, close enough for where their elbows brushed against each other, but far enough to be socially acceptable to a casual observer.

“More than curiosity,” he murmured softly, “and way beyond professional.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “If you are.”

It was definitely not the most direct conversation he had ever had, but things had quickly gone sideways the night before. He wasn’t sure he would have been direct even without all of the potential eavesdropping, as he didn’t have much in his skill set for dealing with anything more romantic than a one night stand. The fact that he was contemplating anything beyond just a quick romp, and with a _Jedi Master_ no less, was proof that he had lost his goddamn mind.

If he was being realistic, he knew that getting too close, getting too _attached_ was a detriment in both of their chosen professions. It just led to too many complications, could compromise judgement at a crucial moment. Especially when the stakes were as high as they were with the hunt for Vitiate. The realistic, wise, and maybe even _kind_ thing to do, would be to find some way to disentangle himself. Save them both a lot of pain whenever this thing they had inevitably crashed and burned like every relationship of his did.

Except he was incapable of practicing that kind of “kindness” when she looked at him like she was right now. He felt like a ship caught in a gravity well and kept getting pulled in deeper by her inescapable force.

He’d long passed the point of being able to break away cleanly, and at this stage he was pretty sure he didn’t want to because the next words out of his mouth was what had been weighing on his mind most of the night. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” she said quietly. “Thank you… for being there.”

“Any time.”

"I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“I’m not.” Hearing that aloud, he winced internally, and felt the need to clarify. “I mean, not that I liked seeing you upset. Just… you’re allowed to be. Upset that is. Sorry, I’m bad at this.”

“You’re really not.”

He dared to glance over and she was looking at him with an undisguised fondness that made something in his chest clench with a sudden and fierce force. “If you say so.”

“I do.” She dropped her eyes then to the mug she was holding, studying the dark depths. “I’ve never told anyone any of that before.”

Theron should have told her that it wasn’t wise sharing her darkest secrets with intelligence operatives, how that sort of thing could come back to haunt her. How she shouldn’t trust him with any of this, as he was bound to just get her hurt someday.

Except he couldn’t tell anymore if that was actually true or some convenient lie he was telling himself. Because when she looked at him the way she did, it almost felt like he was getting a glimpse of something far off in the distance. Something that may have resembled some sort of long future and that was a little terrifying because he’d never been much of a planner. As much as he wanted to find what was at the end of this road, and oh, did he ever—when she flashed him that bright smile it almost felt like staring into the sun. Bright and warm and blinding to everything else around him.

“You never talked to your crew?” he asked quietly, watching her continue the staring contest with her mug.

“I mean… they were _there_. They know what happened. They bore the brunt of what I did… was made to do. Or at least what I was forced to do to them.” She swallowed, pursing her lips together as she continued to look into her mug of caf as if it somehow contained answers. “But I couldn’t… how could I talk to them about that? What can you say other than ‘I’m sorry’?”

He thought of both Doc and Kira, their concern had been obvious. Or at least it was obvious _now_ what they’d been asking. They were probably far more qualified than him to be Grey’s confidant, and were probably willing. But those words didn’t form.

“I couldn’t make them share that burden. Not after what I’d done.” She risked glancing up from her mug, the emotions on her face indecipherable. “I’m still not sure I should have made you bear that weight last night.”

“You didn’t _make_ me do anything,” he corrected gently. “I offered, remember?”

“I suppose that’s true,” she allowed.

“Did it help?”

“I think so.” She shrugged lightly. “I don’t feel so alone now. That’s weird, right? It’s not like I had been by myself for any of this.”

“It’s not weird,” he said quietly. “I’m surprised you went as long as you did keeping all of that in.”

“Still,” she glanced back down, twisting the mug in her hands, gently sloshing the liquid inside, “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the evening was supposed to go.”

“Oh? And how was it supposed to go?”

“Honestly? I have no clue.” Some of the liquid in the mug sloshed over, and she stilled the fidgeting before losing any more. “From the way Doc was carrying on this morning, I’m pretty sure at least he was expecting something else.”

“Exactly what was he saying?”

“I don’t _know_.” She shook her head emphatically. “Something about buzzing insects and chirping avians, and then a bit about flowers? I swear, he wasn’t even speaking Basic by the end.”

Theron scrubbed a hand across his forehead, suppressing a groan. “Was that it?”

She frowned. “Well, he did seem very preoccupied with your hands for some reason.”

“Of _course_ he was,” Theron grumbled, and took a long drag from his mug.

“That and he kept mentioning safety? I really couldn’t follow, but he shoved these in my hand on my way out. He said you’d know what to do with them.”

She set her mug down so she could root around in one of the pouches on her belt and pull out two stims. Perhaps when they were originally manufactured years and years ago, they were nondescript. But anyone these days who knew their way around the galactic bedsheets could tell from the deep blue and bright pink labels that they were the standard-issue Republic contraceptives.

Theron choked, the hot liquid scalding his throat as he sprayed a fine mist of caf into the morning air. As he dissolved into a coughing fit, the back of his throat burning intensely, he felt Grey’s hand pounding on his back not-so-helpfully with the two stims still clutched in her other hand for all the camp to see.

“Are you all right?”

“Put those away!” he managed to get out between coughs.

“Why—?“

She looked at what she was holding a little closer, and then turned bright red as it clicked. It would have been hilarious, and maybe a little endearing, if he wasn’t currently dying of asphyxiation. As it was, in between his coughs, he was plotting all of the ways he would violently murder Doc. From the mortified expression on her face, he wondered if he could recruit Grey in on his plan.

“I’m going to _kill_ him,” he finally managed to croak after his coughing fit finally subsided.

“Why did he think we needed these?”

Theron fixed her with a look, clearly asking if she was serious with his expression since his throat was still too raw to form actual words.

She seemed to decipher his meaning, and somehow managed to flush further. “Oh.”

He massaged his throat with one hand and gripped his temples with the other. Of course this was his lot in life, to die choking on caffa while his Jedi partner deciphered sexual euphemisms. This was probably the will of the Force, punishing him for “corrupting” the Order’s perfect little knight.

This was probably the time for him to ask her exactly how much temptation and corruption she was up for, but they traded one awkward conversation for another as Kira approached, the barely suppressed amusement on her face indicating what was about to come.

“Hey there, tiger,” she said to Theron, “you have fun last night?”

He mustered up the closest he could get to a glare for her and earned a snicker for his efforts.

“What are you talking about?” Grey asked, confusion written on her face. “Have you and Doc been talking?”

“No,” she laughed, “I’m just going off what I saw after dinner. Tell me, Theron, did you try out Mighty Jakarro Technique Number Four?”

He refused to deign that with a response and shoved away from the conference table in a dramatic snit, grabbing his mug of caf and retreating to the other side of the table. He heard Grey’s confused query of “What is a Motetsa Driller?”, and mercifully Kira decided to lean in and whisper in her Master’s ear rather than shout it out to the world. She finished up her explanation right about the same time Satele approached the table.

Grey let out a scandalized “Kira!” just before the Grand Master came into hearing range. The great and mighty Hero of Tython looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up, while her former pupil just looked ridiculously amused. Satele shot him a confused look and he just shook his head, begging her with his eyes to not ask.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said slowly, glancing around the gathered faces with more than a bit of confusion. “I trust I haven’t missed anything?”

“Nope,” Theron croaked.

At the same time Grey quickly shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

Theron quickly busied himself with making the call to Saresh’s secured line. Partially because they were almost overdue, but mostly so he could distract Satele before she thought to ask any more questions.


End file.
